Love Potion number - 9?
by Angel10242
Summary: "Tell me again why I'm doing this Sherlock?" "It's for a case John, I told you..." Sherlock gets permission to experiment on John on the pretext of solving a case, although the results aren't quite what either of them expected! Eventual Johnlock, with some fun hiccups along the way.
1. It's for a case, John

**A/N - **Alas, I don't own the characters or anything else - and make no profits from this story. Now that's out of the way... enjoy!

* * *

John sat on the kitchen table swinging his legs while he faced his pipette-wielding flatmate and frowned. "Tell me _again_ why I'm doing this Sherlock?"

"It's for a _case_ John, I told you," Sherlock replied, managing to sound both petulant and outraged at the hint of fed-up-ness in John's voice. "Surely even you can recall? I told you about it yesterday and you _promised_ you'd help. It was the incident last Thursday from the website, the one with the woman and the man who definitely wasn't her husband…and the locked bedroom."

"Oh, I remember the one," John brightened, relaxing his defensive posture slightly as he recalled a distinct lack of gore at the scene which meant this experiment was less likely to end in physical harm for him too, "Where both she and the husband swore blind she'd never met the man she was found in bed with, despite her declaring her undying love for him when the hubbie caught them. Didn't she think she'd been drugged?"

"Exactly!" Exclaimed Sherlock, "and she was telling the truth - I picked up no indication of deliberate deception. Plus of course there was definitely _something_ in her blood. So, given all the evidence, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains - "

"- However improbable, must be the truth," John interjected, smirking at Sherlock's catchphrase.

"Yes, John," Sherlock looked down at him frowning at the interruption, "Improbable but not impossible that the couple… uh," Sherlock consulted his notes, "Mr and Mrs Warwick, were correct and there was some kind of chemical prompt for her behaviour rather than the more prosaic outcome that she was simply lying to hide her infidelity."

"So, and I know how you hate it when I repeat myself… why am I doing this?"

"Jooohhhnnn" Sherlock whined, now definitely in full pout in an attempt to manipulate John into capitulating, "You told me you'd help. No drug on the market matches the chemical composition of the one in Mrs Warwick's bloodstream, nor can I find anything readily available which would produce her exact symptoms. You agreed you'd help me test replications of it and prove it made her act that way. A marriage is at stake here John!" He finished with a dramatic flourish, waving the pipette as though conducting an orchestra.

John gave a very inelegant snort at that declaration, knowing full well Sherlock cared far less for the sake of the Warwick's marriage than he did for the lure of solving the puzzle of an unidentified chemical solution which could provoke such irrational behaviour.

"It really is very simple," Sherlock continued, "We know the chemical makeup of the drug but not the quantities or the preparation method. If I can just monitor the outcomes in a test subject I can ascertain the exact composition of the drug and validate Mrs Warwick's claims. Or not."

"So… let me get this right… you are going to dose me with variants of the chemical solution found in her blood until you find one which will make me believe myself completely in love with someone, albeit not forever, and then use that to prove the wife wasn't intentionally cheating on her husband?"

"Really John, there is absolutely no need to repeat my words back to me - I know exactly what I said." Sherlock continued reprovingly. "And anyway, the concentration I'll be using will be substantially diluted. To be honest I doubt you will even notice the effects."

John sighed loudly, but his heart wasn't really in it. He had agreed to do this and despite all evidence to the contrary (Baskerville came instantly to mind) he trusted Sherlock not to deliberately harm him.

"If I'm doing this I want some ground rules in place," John told Sherlock sternly, batting away the detective who was already approaching with the pipette outstretched in recognition that John had given in. "You are not drugging me until you agree."

"Fine. Whatever you want." Sherlock agreed with him dismissively, knowing full well he would follow John's rules only as far as they coincided with his own plans. Not that John needed to know that.

"I'm serious Sherlock! If you don't listen I'll walk away now and you can go back to wild speculations and a distinct lack of scientific proof for your theories."

Sherlock huffed and sighed and did his best flouncing away from the table, but eventually agreed to listen to John's conditions.

"Ok. First off, how long will each dose last?"

Sherlock consulted his notes and muttered under his breath, "Given body weight and dilution of the compound, minus food consumed in last two hours, add in half-life factor of five…" He looked up at John, "12 hours - 24 at the absolute most."

"That's manageable. Then rule one is that you don't leave me alone during the time I'm under this compound's influence. No running off to investigate some fascinating double murder while I'm unable to control my own mind."

"That seems… reasonable I guess." Sherlock conceded, although he was a bit put out at the thought of potentially giving up a good murder.

"Second. Hmmm. No deliberately involving other people. I don't want our friends discovering me in compromising situations, or discovering I actually consented to you drugging me."

"Yes John," muttered Sherlock sulkily. Really, John was taking all the fun out of this now.

"Thirdly - no drugging me without my consent. We agree when and where together. No slipping it into my coffee when I'm not looking."

Sherlock had the grace to look slightly abashed at that one. John had been _furious_ after the whole HOUND incident.

"Fourthly… You share all the results with me afterwards. No secrets." John paused, trying to recall the details of the Warwick's case. "Did she remember everything when she was drugged?"

Sherlock nodded slowly, "She did… but she remembered more concept than detail - sentiment and emotion over fact and observable evidence. Mrs Warwick told me she recalled the pleasure and sensation of being completely head-over-heels in love with the stranger, but was unable to tell me what she had eaten for dinner."

"Then I definitely want to see all your notes after the effects of each dose wears off."

"Yes, fine. Are we done now?" Sherlock lost his patience with all the rules and boundaries. He was itching to get started and see how close he had got with his first composition.

"I suppose so." John had dropped back to his mock-stern 'I'm doing you a huge favour here so appreciate it' voice, and Sherlock knew that meant he was only being so reticent because he didn't want to appear keen. But John was a doctor, a scientist too, and he secretly loved a good experiment almost as much as Sherlock. Even John had to admit he was a little curious as to how much effect Sherlock''s concoction would have on him.

"Good. Well, it is midday now… shall we start? I'm expecting the effect to become more pronounced after an hour or two, peaking in hour 5, then fade out over several hours. The first dose is relatively low in strength so should be completely out of your system by the time you wake up in the morning, if not before."

John jumped off the kitchen table and stood by Sherlock, looking down at the laptop screen as Sherlock entered data into his spreadsheet documenting the effects of the drug on John.

"We'll start with two drops administered orally and see how we go. We can always adjust the delivery method and the quantity for next time if this isn't conclusive enough. Now, open your mouth and stick out your tongue"

John rolled his eyes at the command but obligingly did as Sherlock asked. Sherlock took the pipette and carefully administered two drops onto John's tongue then wandered off into the lounge with the laptop to update his notes. John was left standing in the kitchen on his own, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Only one way to find out…

"Now what?" John asked, hovering in the kitchen door.

Sherlock glanced up from the screen to meet his eyes. "Now John, we wait."

* * *

**A/N - **Reviews, comments and all other feedback most welcome. Next chapter will be up tomorrow x


	2. Love potion number - 1

John checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes and paced around the living room.

"It's been three hours now Sherlock"

Sherlock continued reading his book, ignoring John.

"I don't feel any different," he complained, "I thought it would have at least _some_ kind of effect."

Another two laps of the living room and another glance at his watch, then a sigh as John sat down heavily in his chair, tapping his foot on the floor restlessly. Sherlock waited a moment then counted under his breath "5…4…3…2…"

John burst from his seat in frustration and stood in front of Sherlock. "Sherlock! Stop ignoring me!"

Sherlock finally condescended to glance up at John and raised one eyebrow in query.

"Is it working or not?" John asked abruptly. "You said it would peak at 5 hours… surely I should be feeling something by now? I don't want to hang around the flat all day if it isn't going to have any effect."

Sherlock was in two minds. On one hand he thought John had agreed to this so should just get on with it, but on the other hand he too was curious as to whether there had been an effect yet, even if it wasn't obvious. He decided that a couple of tests would be helpful to appease his own curiosity, and would also satisfy John.

"Go get your medical bag, John," Sherlock requested, "We've been looking for an emotive response - perhaps we will see a physiological one first. We'll do some tests and see if there is a measurable impact yet."

John positively raced up the stairs, eager to finally be doing _something_. Sherlock headed to the kitchen to where his laptop sat on the table and made some notes around John's apparent mood swings. It might not be to do with the formula (Sherlock admitted that frustration was quite often seen by John when Sherlock experimented, particularly when he was the test subject), but worth noting in case it was exacerbated by further formulations.

"We'll just do some simple tests" he explained to John on his return, "I'll record your pulse rate, blood pressure, pupil dilation and reaction time. This should cover any physical impairments relating to the chemicals of infatuation when released by the brain."

"That makes sense," John agreed.

In fact Sherlock was privately chastising himself for not having thought to collect data earlier. "We'll do this every two hours from now on, John," he explained, "that way we can track any imperceptible changes you might not notice yourself."

John willingly sat and rolled up his shirt sleeve for the sphygmomanometer cuff, and held still for Sherlock to check pupil dilation. Sherlock recorded them all in his spreadsheet. Unfortunately they didn't have baseline figures to compare against but could at least track changes from here through this phase of the experiment.

When they were done John buttoned his shirt-sleeve again and looked down at Sherlock's laptop. He sighed as he stood back up. "Hmmm… well my pulse rate is about normal, as is my blood pressure. No obvious effect yet then. Guess I'll make another cup of tea. Want one?"

Sherlock hummed in agreement, his mind already racing through calculations of what he would change for his second attempt.

oOo

It wasn't until 7pm and they were sitting in Angelo's eating pasta that Sherlock noticed a difference in John. If he didn't know better he would have thought the man was drunk - his voice was raised, he laughed loudly and readily, and his demeanour was unusually open and relaxed. However in the name of science and not skewing results by adding new variables, John had been drinking water only with his dinner - no alcohol involved. _It must be the formula_, Sherlock mused. He narrowed his eyes and observed without commenting, wondering how long it would be until John noticed himself.

Sherlock was privately amused that it took John until they were sharing a portion of tiramisu (in other words Sherlock was eating John's tiramisu) to realise that there was something happening.

John had a spoon of dessert midway to his mouth when he paused, frowned, and put the spoon back down.

"It's working, isn't it?" He asked Sherlock, who nodded in response.

"Sherlock!" John chastised, "You could have told me!"

"There was no need. You aren't doing anything out of the ordinary - you are merely acting as you normally do in here when you drink most of a bottle of wine."

"But still…" John moaned, annoyed now, "I wish you'd said something. It is beyond frustrating when you do things like this to me. We weren't supposed to be leaving the flat but you promised you'd tell me as soon as you detected a change if I didn't notice myself first."

Sherlock merely waved a hand in dismissal and stole another spoonful of the italian trifle. "You are fine, John. I wouldn't allow you to embarrass yourself here - I like Angelo's and wish to be able to return."

oOo

"I'm really not happy with you," John told Sherlock as they walked home from the restaurant.

Sherlock merely hummed in response, his mind only half on John. He was actually cataloguing in his mind all the effects he had noticed in John and their emotive strength so he could commit them to his notes when they got back.

"I wish you'd listen to me," John grumbled at his side, "you say you'll follow the rules but then you just do what you want, no matter the cost to others…"

Sherlock blocked him out completely, satisfied there was nothing new to be learned from listening to John moan about trivial things like 'following rules'. He continued walking briskly - it was cold and slightly drizzly and Sherlock really wanted to get back.

It wasn't until Sherlock went to cross the road and looked to his side that he realised John was no longer with him. Frowning, he scanned the street behind him, suddenly anxious. He'd promised not to leave John unattended while drugged; this would definitely fit into the category of behaviour classed as _a bit not good_.

No sign of John anywhere.

Sherlock spun around and walked briskly back towards Angelo's, looking into each alleyway and dark corner as he went, searching for his missing friend. He frantically rewound the conversation - how long was it since John had spoken to him? Not that many minutes… so where was he?

He turned a corner and to his relief caught a glimpse of familiar sandy blond hair on a man staring into a shop window. Hurrying over he called out "John!" but got no response. It wasn't until he stood next to his friend and touched his shoulder that John even seemed to be aware of Sherlock's presence.

"Oh! Sherlock! Come look," John exclaimed, catching Sherlock's hand in his apparent excitement and steering him to face the shop. He let go of Sherlock's hand to press his own up against the window, a rapt expression on his face as he gazed in.

Sherlock paused, confused, and looked into the shop window to see what had caught John's attention so markedly. It was a department store with a window display of various small electrical items. Sherlock failed to see what was so fascinating.

"What are you doing John? I thought you wanted to get home?"

"Have you ever seen something so lovely?"

Now Sherlock was getting worried. John's voice had the same tone to it as he did when he'd got back from a successful second date with a new girl. He sounded infatuated. Sherlock spoke cautiously, as though to a small child, "What is it John? What is _so lovely_?"

"The red kettle of course! It's so _red_. And _shiny._ And red. Did I mention red? I really do love kettles, they make excellent tea. You can't make a good cup of tea without a good kettle. Have you tried? Boiled water in all sorts of things when I was in the army, but it never tastes the same…used to always have weird metallic aftertaste from the pots…Not like red kettles…"

Sherlock was beyond bemused, but starting to recognise the symptoms for what they really were. Apparently this version of the formula managed to make John;

- Have some level of enhanced mood swings, given the lack of provocation

- Act in a manner comparable to consuming the majority of a bottle of red wine - a bit loud, a bit giggly and more outgoing than usual

- Fall in love with miscellaneous electrical goods.

- Or more specifically - a red kettle

- To be exact - a red kettle because it looked like 'it would make a really excellent cup of tea'

Sherlock eventually managed to pry John away from the window display with the promise of coming back the next day when the shop was open, and with the incentive of a cup of tea, albeit using their 'stupid normal _boring_ kettle', once they got home.

The formula had considerably loosened his tongue. John continued to wax lyrical about the wonders of the kettle all the way home, through Sherlock's last round of tests on his blood pressure and pulse rate, and through the consumption of the promised mug of tea.

By the end of it Sherlock was tied between finding the whole thing completely hilarious and most exasperating. He was amused at how vocal John was being but also really wanted silence so he could process the results and make a plan for the next formula. To his relief after an hour John suddenly went quiet. Sherlock looked up from the laptop to see John staring into space, and with a little encouragement and cajoling from Sherlock he agreed to go to bed, leaving Sherlock in the wonderfully silent living room able to finally process and order his thoughts.

"That was interesting," he murmured to himself as he settled with the laptop to write up his notes.

oOo

John came down the stairs the next morning to find Sherlock snoozing on the sofa, still wearing the previous day's clothes. He stumbled into the kitchen, tightening the belt on his dressing gown as he automatically reached blearily for the kettle and a much needed cup of tea.

To his surprise the kettle was missing from its home on the work surface. Looking around properly for the first time John registered a cardboard box on the dining table with a note propped against it.

Curious, he opened the box to discover inside a shiny new red kettle. _The _red kettle. John instantly flushed in chagrin as memories of his obsession with it in the shop window the previous night flooded back to him. Wincing internally in anticipation at the mockery he was due, he picked up the note. To John's surprise he smiled as he read the contents. In Sherlock's scrawled handwriting it simply said,

_John - _

_Because even though it was chemically induced, anything you like this much has to be worth owning._

_Milk and sugar in mine please._

_S _

* * *

_Summary of S. Holmes experiment notes - use of chemical stimulation to promote an indiscriminate strong attraction and personal attachment ('Love') in test subject for a controlled period of time._

**Week 1:** compound 2013107 #01

**Subject:** John H. Watson MD

**Notes:** The experiment went as predicted with test subject showing noticeable reactions to the formula #01, although would not define the responses as concurrent with those of the original subject. Increased psychological responses were observed along with slight changes to physical markers most likely to respond to feelings of love or lust. Heart rate increased when subject was presented with an object of desire (in this case an electrical appliance), although expected pupil dilation was not significant.

**Outcomes:** Strong liking for an inanimate object. No 'love' observed.

**Conclusion:** Further testing required with revised formulation (maybe increase norepinephrine levels?) and intensity.

* * *

**A/N - **

Sphygmomanometer - blood pressure meter. It is such an awesome word I couldn't resist using it!

Reviews, con crit and other feedback always welcome x


	3. Love potion number - 2

A week after the first experiment John was back in the kitchen with his tongue out patiently waiting as Sherlock carefully administered two drops of his new formulation.

"Wahg woes wifth won woo wifferentwy Therrlough?"

"What?" Sherlock asked distractedly, debating whether to increase the dosage from two drops to three.

John leant back, allowing himself to re-engage his tongue, "I said, what does this one do differently Sherlock?"

"Oh, I increased the norepinephrine ratio. Hold out your tongue again, I want to add another drop."

John obediently did just that, and Sherlock squeezed the end of the pipette carefully until one single drop landed on John's tongue.

"Hmmm," John frowned, "tastes like a combination of cloves and washing powder. Can't say I recommend it."

"I could add a flavouring next time if you'd like?" Sherlock offered to John's surprise.

"Maybe… but I guess it isn't that bad. I think I'll just put the kettle on for some tea - it will soon go. Thanks for the offer though."

Sherlock smiled as he watched John fill the kettle and find mugs for tea, still amused by the previous week's experiment and its unintentional effect on John's appreciation for electrical goods. He'd had to call in a favour to get the box delivered in time but it had been worth it for the look on John's face the next morning. Sherlock was relieved that the doctor took it all in good spirits - he had been a little concerned that as the first experiment didn't go as expected John might back out, but he seemed willing enough to continue.

oOo

This time round they tested John's reactions to the drug every hour while waiting for it to kick in. Again, at around the five-hour mark he started to display symptoms.

"Your heart rate has increased, and your pupils are slightly more dilated than usual." Sherlock remarked as he entered the numbers into the spreadsheet. "Feeling any different?"

"Not really. I don't think so anyway. At least I'm not lusting after electrical appliances this time." John joked.

oOo

It was another hour before the formula really started to come alive. Like the previous week the effects were noticeable to Sherlock before John realised what was happening. Again, the doctor came across as slightly inebriated, laughing loudly and freely at something on TV, smiling broadly at Sherlock when he turned to share the joke.

Sherlock found to his surprise that he rather liked this version of John, who was more relaxed and open with his feelings. Sherlock freely admitted to himself that sentiment wasn't exactly his strong point and he occasionally missed the gist of John's emotional reactions. John under the influence of his compound was easy to read - everything played out visibly across his face and in his actions. The real John was much more reserved.

_I wonder if I can get him to show me other responses?_ Thought Sherlock, with his mind on other experiments he could attempt on John. He was very conscious that John would not be impressed if he found out, so they would have to be subtle.

He started simply - could he manage to make John display emotions he would usually keep hidden?

"John."

…

"John!"

…

"JOHN!"

"Oh, sorry Sherlock, what did you want?"

"Come here. I want you to watch this video for me on youtube."

John willingly turned off the TV and came over to where Sherlock sat on the sofa with the laptop. "Ok - I'm all yours Sherlock. I'm not even going to ask why I'm watching this," he said as he sat, a bright smile on his face.

Sherlock passed him the laptop and pressed play on the video - a story about a lion being reunited with his owners after a year living free in Africa (Sherlock had simply googled 'youtube videos to make you cry' and chosen one he thought would most appeal to John, discounting any with a military bent as being too close to home).

Within moments he could see the smile fall from John's face and tears well up in his eyes. John watched the video through to the end, then handed the laptop back to Sherlock abruptly before hurrying off to the bathroom, Sherlock assumed to compose himself.

Even given the retreat into the bathroom, Sherlock was impressed. John had allowed him to see the effect the video was having to a far greater degree than he would normally. Experiment one was a success. But he knew that if he wanted to continue with the sub-experiments he would have to be careful or John would realise. Sherlock decided for once that discretion was the way forward, and that he could wait until another evening to progress the guiding of John's responses. For now he would allow John's mind to take him where he wanted.

When John returned to the room some minutes later Sherlock had turned the television back on to something lighthearted, and made no further mention of the video or its affect on John.

oOo

The afternoon continued much as any other did, with occasional conversation as both men did their own thing, interspersed for Sherlock's measurements of John's reactions.

John had offered to cook them dinner and they'd both moved to the kitchen. Sherlock sat quietly at the table and observed while John put together a stir-fry. He was interested to see that John appeared to have become unconsciously obsessed with touch. He stroked the peppers before slicing them, rubbing his fingers over the smooth skin over and over again. The chicken breast was prodded and poked - its slippery texture and goose-pimped skin explored while John sliced it, and then rejected with a shudder and a swift retreat to the sink for a thorough hand-wash. The touch John appeared to enjoy the most though were the baby sweetcorn. Their ribbed texture clearly appealed to him and Sherlock noticed that although he cut up and cooked most of the pack, one was left on the slide for John to absently play with while he stirred the meal.

After they had eaten and washed up they retreated back to the living room. John had some work to do on his blog so stole his laptop off of Sherlock and sat down to type. Sherlock had begun work on the next variation of the formula already so had his microscope out and was making notes as he observed. Before long he was lost in his work and oblivious to John's movements.

John in the meantime, had settled with his laptop and the serious intent of responding to some of the comments on his blog. But when he started to type he found himself fascinated by the feel of the keys under his fingers. Before long he had given up on writing actual words and was instead running his hands over the keys from top to bottom, enjoying the smooth feel of them against his skin. He could almost feel a slipperiness to them, like silicon or a fine oil, and had to rub his thumb over his fingertips to check there was no moisture on them. How had he never noticed this before? It felt _amazing!_ Fascinated, he tried each key to see if any were particularly appealing.

John found it most amusing when he realised the two keys he liked the feel of best were the spacebar and the backspace key - no doubt their particularly tactile nature was due to the number of times he was forced to use them when writing his blog.

Bored now with the keyboard, and having lost the desire to write, he wandered round the living room picking things up and stroking them to see what else felt nice to him. He was aware in some part of his mind that this wasn't usual behaviour and was probably due to Sherlock's experiment, but it wasn't harmful so he indulged. In fact, it was fascinating. John wasn't normally one for touching, especially in their flat (who knew what Sherlock had done to anything left lying around?) but the pleasure he was getting from it was worth the risk.

It wasn't long before Sherlock noticed John's movements and became interested too.

"What are you doing John?" he asked cautiously, keeping his head over his microscope. Sherlock was in two minds - he had promised John that he would be open about the effects of the formula, but he was aware that once John was conscious of what he was doing he would probably stop.

"Your love potion made my touch responses go into overdrive," John told him, smiling, as he ran his fingers over the union jack cushion on the sofa. "It's amazing!"

Sherlock turned around fully, relieved John was aware of his actions, and sat back to watch John's progress around the room.

"What's felt the best so far?" Sherlock asked, curious.

He was surprised with John's instant response - "The skull, without a doubt. It's the perfect size and shape to hold which helps, and although it is mostly smooth the bone has lumps and cracks and depressions in it. It's cool to the touch, but also you can tell it's organic - it feels so different to plastic. I imagine it is like the texture the surface of the moon would be if you could get a 3D photo of it."

John walked across the room and picked up the skull, bringing it over to where Sherlock was sitting. He held it in front of him and ran his fingers back over the cranium, absently smiling in pleasure at having it under his fingers again. With a sigh he held it out to Sherlock, reluctant to give it up but keen to share the experience with his friend.

"You try. See if you can feel what I did."

Sherlock took the skull and carefully ran his fingers over it, closing his eyes to better focus his mind on the sensation of touch. He was surprised to find that he could picture exactly what John had described under his fingertips. He was amazed. He had had the skull in his hands hundreds, if not thousands of times, analysing it, talking to it. But never had he stopped to do what he was doing now - really concentrating on the feel.

Expanding on it, he kept his eyes closed and explored every surface - from the curved inside of the eye sockets to the teeth in their orderly rows. He opened his eyes suddenly to look up at John,

"You're right - it is fascinating. Thank you."

John smiled in appreciation of the compliment and migrated back to the sofa. Sherlock followed after a few minutes, still investigating the skull's tactile properties. It didn't take long before Sherlock had progressed from sitting to lying across the sofa with his long legs dangling over the arm, his head resting on the cushion next to John. He closed his eyes in contemplation, fingers still running absently over the skull.

Sherlock wasn't the only one mindlessly touching. John's hand had been resting on his knee, rubbing against the grain of the denim jeans he was wearing, but without him realising it he had moved it and it was now running through Sherlock's hair, scratching gently over his scalp.

Sherlock, still focused on the skull, positively purred with pleasure, pressing up into the sensation before realising exactly what was happening and stilling himself in shock. He and John were fairly easy with physical contact around each other, but they certainly didn't usually spend evenings on the sofa stroking each other.

Carefully he forced himself to relax and close his eyes again. He didn't want to spook John or make him uncomfortable. So how to get out of this? He could just start a conversation and see if that distracted John enough to move his hand. Unfortunately just at that moment John again scraped his nails lightly over Sherlock's scalp and he lost his entire train of thought at the burst of pleasure this gave him.

Dammit! This experiment was supposed to be affecting John, not him.

Now Sherlock was in a quandary. Did he want to move, subtly, to stop John? Or did he actually want to stay exactly where he was and just enjoy the sensation? It was completely intoxicating - Sherlock didn't often have people touch him in a casual way and he found he thoroughly enjoyed John's hands on him. After all, it was John, not some sweaty stranger trying to grope him in a nightclub - an all too familiar scenario from his youth before he decided it really wasn't for him.

In the end Sherlock decided that for the sake of gathering data for his experiment (and not _at all_ because when John touched the skin behind his ears it made him want to shiver) that he would stay where he was and let John continue. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and allowed his mind to wander.

'_I think if I'm reincarnated I want to come back as a cat,' _was the last (semi)conscious thought he had…

oOo

Sherlock woke some hours later when John gently stroked his cheekbone with one finger and gave a hushed "Sherlock, wake up."

He groaned and opened his eyes slowly, feeling groggy from falling asleep unexpectedly. John was looking down at him with an amused smile on his lips.

"It's late, time for bed Sherlock. Didn't think you'd want to stay here like this… it can't be comfortable with your legs hanging off the end."

Sherlock swung his legs back over and sat up with a yawn and a stretch. John was correct, it wasn't comfortable and he would have woken with sore joints if he'd stayed there all night. He conceded defeat and walked with John out of the room. At the doorway to his bedroom he turned to say goodnight. John reached out again to stroke Sherlock, this time on his arm, as he headed up the stairs. It seemed the formula was still going strong. Although Sherlock did wonder why John seemed so obsessed with touching _him_.

_Huh._

* * *

_Summary of S. Holmes experiment notes - use of chemical stimulation to promote an indiscriminate strong attraction and personal attachment ('Love') in test subject for a controlled period of time._

**Week 2: ** compound 2013107 #02

**Subject: ** John H. Watson MD

**Notes: **Subject found an obvious enjoyment in physical contact with formula #02. This formulation appears to exponentially increase the pleasure brought around by touch. Tactile fabrics and textures, along with human interaction all provided positive results. I do believe I'm on the right track now, with a simple increase in awareness of a preference for human interaction and a lowering of inhibitions to allow for feelings of 'love' to show. John's emotions are already showing an increase, but not a preference yet for intimacy or other signifiers, as opposed to a general heightening.

**Outcomes:** Significant increase in tactile neural responses. Subject expressed desire to touch.

**Conclusion:** Next compound to focus on the emotional response required - can the subject be guided down a path of particular emotion?

* * *

**A/N - **

Thanks to everyone following this story. Next chapter will be up on Friday…

Reviews and feedback are always cherished x


	4. Love potion number - 3

John's fist slammed into the brick wall. He gritted his teeth, trying in vain to get back into control and calm himself down.

"_Bit not good, _Sherlock. What the _hell_ did you give me?"

oOo

**3 hours earlier…**

"Tongue."

"_Please._"

"Fine. Tongue _please_, John."

"Of course Sherlock, you only had to ask." John replied with a smirk, and stuck his tongue out willingly for the three drops of Sherlock's new formulation. He'd asked what was different about this one and had received some convoluted response about serotonin levels that even as a doctor he failed to understand. John's eyes had glazed over about halfway through the explanation and in the end he'd nodded encouragingly and told himself Sherlock had good intentions and the previous versions hadn't done him any harm so not to worry.

This time was different. John could feel the effects immediately, and he swayed slightly on his feet when he got an unexpected head-rush almost as soon as he swallowed. Sherlock looked at him with concern as he reached out to grab John's shoulders and steady him.

"John? Are you ok?"

"Feel a bit funny Sherlock. This potion of yours seems to be a bit stronger than the last one."

Sherlock frowned. The concentration was very similar to the last version - he wasn't expecting it to work any differently. This was an aberration… He quickly revised his testing schedule to every thirty minutes rather than the hour or two they had been following. Starting right now.

John was ushered to one of the kitchen chairs and made to sit while Sherlock did all the usual tests for pulse rate and pupil dilation.

"John, there is absolutely nothing to be worried about," said Sherlock cautiously.

"Why is it statements like that make me immediately assume that the exact opposite is true?" replied John wryly. "Come on then, what's up?"

"Your heart is racing and your blood pressure has increased."

"Oh. That's not great. Usually my blood pressure drops during this, not increases. And not for a good few hours as well, not immediately. What about pupil dilation?"

"Negative. Your pupils are actually constricted right now."

John sighed resignedly. "Any chance you've got an antidote sitting around?"

"I'm sorry John," Sherlock said with genuine regret, "There's nothing I can do… we'll just have to wait for your body to metabolise it."

John stood up and headed to the fridge. "I'll eat… that should help with speeding things up."

Sherlock nodded miserably. This version of his compound looked to be a total failure - what a waste of an experiment day.

oOo

They continued to test John's reactions every thirty minutes until a couple of hours after he had taken the dose, when Sherlock's text alert went off on his phone. He took a look then winced visibly. John's patience was already wearing thin from the stress of the unexpected reaction to the formula and he positively snapped at Sherlock to tell him what was going on.

"Lestrade's got a case. A missing child - time sensitive. Taken from a locked room with no signs of entry. He needs me." Sherlock told him in an apologetic tone.

He knew John would be annoyed. They had agreed not to be separated while John was drugged, so that meant they both had to attend the crime scene. But they had also agreed not to tell anyone else what they were doing, which meant John really didn't want to be seen by the Met that evening.

Sensibly, for once, Sherlock deferred to John. "What would you like to do John? If you want me to stay here I will."

John stood up abruptly and paced the room, his irritation showing in every step he took. "What I would _like_ Sherlock is to have my mind back as it should be, and maybe for a quiet evening for once. But that's not going to happen. So I guess we will go. It's the worst possible timing, and I'm going to hold you responsible for anything I do whatsoever that is out of character. But I can't make you stay here when you might be able to rescue a child." John admitted miserably.

Sherlock nodded, grateful for John's consent no matter how begrudgingly it was given, and they both raced to find coats and shoes before heading out the door to hail a taxi.

It was only a short ride to the scene where Greg Lestrade and his team were waiting. Sherlock greeted them in his usual dismissive way. John restricted himself to a tight nod, unwilling to risk speaking when he wasn't fully in control of himself.

Sherlock grabbed his arm and they both entered the child's bedroom, Sherlock immediately swirling around to look for clues. John stood in the doorway and felt grumpy. It wasn't his usual state of being and he felt completely disconcerted by it. Usually he would have been as willing as Sherlock to come and help with such a case, and would have been currently watching his flatmate and friend with interest and pleasure as the Detective did his job and deduced and solved. But today none of it touched him.

He didn't care about helping the police, he didn't care about Sherlock, he didn't even care about finding the child.

oOo

Sherlock was about to tell John what he had found when he looked up at him and stopped. John's face was showing a maelstrom of emotions - unhappiness, confusion, grim acceptance, but most vividly, anger. Sherlock assessed his flushed face, clenched jaw and whitened knuckles around the fists John had unconsciously drawn, and knew that he had to act quickly.

Without a word Sherlock gripped John's arm and led him out of the house and around an alleyway at the side where it was quiet. John stood for a moment just breathing, then slammed his fists into the wall with obvious fury. Sherlock flinched and involuntarily took a step back. He could see John was trying to get himself back under control but was failing.

"_Bit not good, _Sherlock. What the _hell_ did you give me?"

Sherlock spoke carefully, his voice moderated and deliberately calm. "John, I didn't intentionally do this. This version of the formula was intended to create heightened emotions but you know the end result was supposed to be love, not rage. I'm very sorry."

The calm tone was working. John had managed to take a breath and release his fists to keep his hands loose. "I'll need you to get me out of here Sherlock, I can't keep a hold of my temper tonight and it won't take much provocation from the likes of Donovan to make me do something I'll regret."

"Of course," Sherlock hastily reassured him, "The abduction is obvious anyway - it's an older sibling, estranged from the family. They had a key to the room which is why it appeared to have been undisturbed. They have no intention of hurting the child, just wanted to get to know their little brother." He paused, "Will you be ok here if I go and tell Lestrade where to look for them? I'd do it later by text but I don't want to get distracted if this gets worse."

John looked around the quiet alleyway - there was a step a bit further along he could sit on where he would be out of sight. He pointed it out to Sherlock and told him to be quick, then made his way over there to wait. He sat curled up into a miserable ball, knees tucked under his chin. He was desperate to keep out of the way of everyone, ashamed of his inability to control himself. He hated this, it was worse than being back in the army. At least there when attacks of anger or rage hit there was usually a good reason for it, and an outlet to be had through fighting, or through the adrenalin of fighting to save someone's life on the operating table. He needed to get a grip.

"It's only chemical," he told himself, repeating it like a mantra. "Deep breaths. The feeling will pass. It isn't real."

Before long Sherlock raced back around the corner, having clearly run from the young boy's room upstairs.

"There's a car on it's way." He said breathlessly, "I called in a favour with Mycroft. Figured you could do without cab drivers and their opinions tonight."

John was able to nod in thanks for the gesture, and carefully stood, keeping his back against the wall and his distance from Sherlock. He could feel the emotions rushing over him like a tidal wave and he didn't trust himself not to lash out. They bubbled just under the surface… it would take so little to set him off. Another deep breath. _It's not real. It's only chemical. _"When the car comes, will you sit in the front please? Leave me in the back alone?"

Sherlock looked at John sharply, his gaze assessing. Whatever he saw must have surprised even him as his eyes widened slightly before he nodded in agreement and made no attempt to dissuade John.

They stood in silence in the alleyway until Sherlock's phone beeped and he said with some relief, "It's here, come on."

John walked forward, a careful step behind Sherlock. Sherlock's pace was brisk and he swept past the bystanders without a word, merely holding the car door open for John before getting into the front passenger seat.

John did up his seatbelt and closed his eyes, willing the world away. He heard Sherlock murmur to the driver, then music flooded the car. _Bach_, John thought, using the music to distract his mind, forcing himself to focus on the soothing tones and allowing the music to wash over his heightened emotions.

He kept his eyes closed until the car stopped outside their flat and Sherlock opened the door for him. He felt more in control now and was able to get out and into 221b without incident. Sherlock stopped for a moment to talk to the driver then followed John in, locking the doors behind him. Once inside Sherlock stood by the doorway, for once uncertain of what he should do. He longed to reach out to John and comfort him as he was so clearly distressed by the events of the evening, but he didn't dare when John was so volatile.

John made the decision for him. He walked into the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs. "Take measurements now for your study, then go to your room and lock your door. I will be doing the same. I don't know if this is going to get better or worse and I don't want to hurt you."

Sherlock came over. He measured John's pulse (still elevated), and his pupils (like pinpricks), along with his blood pressure (through the roof). He put the results into his spreadsheet and moved away so John could stand. John sat resolutely, clearly unwilling to move until he knew Sherlock had obeyed him and gone to his room.

"It isn't that bad, John, you will be fine in the morning, I'd be ok to-"

A fist slammed into the table top and stopped Sherlock mid sentence. John, who never raised his voice _ever_, bellowed "GET OUT!"

Sherlock gave out a very undignified squeak and took two steps back, before walking to his room quickly and shutting and locking the door. He stood on the other side, leaning against it, adrenalin coursing through him as his body fought the fear. To his relief he heard John immediately turn the lights off and head up the stairs to his own room.

Sherlock lay on the bed fully dressed, mobile in hand. He listened to John change and get into bed but he remained tense. It wasn't until he crept out, pausing halfway up the stairs, and heard the unmistakable sound of soft snores that told him John was asleep that he felt he could return to his room and relax. He still locked the door behind himself though.

oOo

Sherlock was woken the next morning by a gentle tap on his door. He hauled himself out of bed and stood by the door, pausing before unlocking it.

"I brought you tea, Sherlock, and toast. Your formula has worn off, I checked my stats - I'm back to baseline levels."

Sherlock opened the door to find a very apologetic John Watson on the other side. He waved him in, then climbed back into his bed, not willing to get up just yet. John perched himself on the edge, balancing the mugs of tea and plate of toast until Sherlock relieved him of one of the mugs and a slice of marmalade covered toast. For a moment there was silence as each contemplated their tea and avoided eye contact with each other.

"I'm really sorry Sherlock," John said in a soft tone, his eyes downcast. "I don't remember exactly what happened but I know enough to know I must have scared you yesterday."

Sherlock wanted to dismiss it and deny having been even slightly fearful, but it stuck in his throat and instead he said, "I'm sorry too - I never expected the compound to have that effect on you. I'll be more careful in future." He paused as something struck him. "You _will _let me continue, won't you John?" he voice anxious, "I promise I'll work out what went wrong this time so it doesn't happen again."

John smiled in relief - he had been worried that his uncontrolled outburst had harmed their friendship. If all Sherlock wanted was for him to continue with the experiment, then John could give him that. He'd double - _triple_ - check what the potion was expected to do next time, but he thought the previous night had been enough to scare them both into being more sensible.

At that thought John snorted with laughter.

"What?" asked Sherlock, curious, smiling despite himself.

"I just thought that the effects of last night might make us both more sensible." John's eyes were dancing as he explained, "As if you could come up with a formula that would do _that._"

* * *

_Summary of S. Holmes experiment notes - use of chemical stimulation to promote an indiscriminate strong attraction and personal attachment ('Love') in test subject for a controlled period of time._

Week 3: compound 2013107 #03

Subject: John H. Watson MD

Notes: Subject reacted almost instantly to the compound, despite no deliberate increase in the concentration. This version heightened emotions, but unfortunately the wrong spectrum, leaving the subject prone to bursts of anger and frustration. Some moderation was observed when subject was exposed to calming music and given space, but any confrontation, no matter how small, received a disproportionate response. Care must be taken to ensure future versions of the compound do not repeat this negative emotional state - it is not conducive to the study.

Outcomes: Strong, uncontrollable emotions. Unfortunately expressed in anger rather than the expected 'love'.

Conclusion: Care to be taken in future not to influence heightened emotions down a negative route. Make sure John is somewhere safe before instigating next experiment.

* * *

**A/N - **

Sorry that one wasn't as fluffy, but I can't believe _all_ of Sherlock's experiments go to plan! Still, no-one was hurt, and it is back to silliness (and ducks!) in the next chapter…

Thanks to everyone following this story. Chapter 5 will be up on Sunday.

Reviews, con crit and other feedback always welcome x


	5. Love potion number - 4

John was having a lovely quiet morning when Sherlock raced into the living room waving a test tube. John looked up from his breakfast and paper, saw the excitement on Sherlock's face, and groaned.

"John!" exclaimed Sherlock.

"Sherlock." John replied in a firm voice, one which said very clearly 'I'm listening but don't expect me to agree to whatever it is you are proposing'.

"I know we've already done one experiment this week, which admittedly didn't go as planned, and we agreed we'd do the formula tests on a weekly basis, but I've got a new version and I think I might have the answer, and I want to test it today John." Finally drawing breath he added as an afterthought, "Please?"

John sighed. The last experiment had gone so badly he was nervous about doing another. However he had promised he would so he couldn't just refuse.

"You readjusted whatever it was that turned me into Dr Banner last time?"

Sherlock's look of bemusement made John's eyes crinkle as he smiled at his brilliant but often clueless friend.

"I don't know why I continue to use pop culture references - you never get them. Bruce Banner is a comic book character - he turns into the Incredible Hulk when he gets angry," John explained. He searched for a reference Sherlock might get, "It's a Jekyll and Hyde story - the monster within."

"Oh, I see. Well, not that there is a 'monster within' in you, but yes, I've adjusted the composition to reduce the likelihood of a strong emotional response other than in conjunction with other markers which all signify a positive experience."

John thought about it. He didn't want to rush into this but he was sure the disastrous formula no.3 had encouraged Sherlock to be more cautious with his approach this time.

"And you want to do this now? It's still morning. What will we do with the day while your potion does its magic?"

"Oh, whatever you want John," Sherlock waved his hand dismissively at being expected to have thought about such details, "I really don't mind."

That made John's eyes light up. _A chance to get Sherlock out of the flat for a whole day for something other than a mystery… could be worth it…_

He replied carefully, "I'll do it but you have to agree to stay with me all day, and not argue about what we do with the time, or where we go."

"Fine, fine," Sherlock was already reaching for a pipette from the stack of new ones he kept in a box on the bookshelf. "I'm reducing the dose back down to two drops… And I think I've managed to reduce the 'inebriation effect' this time too."

"The what?"

"You described it the first time round as feeling like you'd drunk a bottle of wine. So I've attempted with this formula to minimise that. You should be able to act normally and remember everything after it wears off, just with the desire to fall in love somewhere along the lines. If it works I'll simply reverse the effect for the final version."

"Oh!" John suddenly understood Sherlock's approach, "You are doing this piece by piece aren't you? So once you find out what creates a part of the symptoms Mrs Warwick described, you can minimise it and find another part. That's why the last one didn't make me touch random stuff like the one before."

"I thought you knew all this?"

"Sorry, I didn't really think about it before now," John admitted sheepishly. "But now I have… what are you targeting this time?"

"I can't tell you… the parameters of the experiment include the subject not being privy to the expected effect ahead of time. If you knew you'd react differently."

John rolled his eyes at that but seemed satisfied and beckoned Sherlock over to his chair. "Go on then, dose me up," he said with a grin, sticking out his tongue.

oOo

Sherlock hadn't quite expected the day to go as it did. As soon as he'd given John his latest compound John had immediately demanded Sherlock get dressed and prepare for a day out. No details were given as to what this _day out_ might involve, other than the requirement to wear actual clothes and not a sheet ("It was _one time_ John - I don't know why you bring it up so often?" "Because, Sherlock, it was _Buckingham Palace_.").

So Sherlock was dressed as usual in a suit and shirt with his trusty coat and scarf to ward off the wintery weather, and standing by the front door waiting for John. John raced down the stairs, looking flustered from rushing to get ready, muttering "Sorry, sorry," as he went. He too grabbed his coat and scarf, and opened the front door with a sweeping gesture and a grinned "After you" to Sherlock.

To John's pleasure Sherlock was in a generous mood and willingly got into the spirit of the day, engaging him in conversation about interesting trivialities as they strode companionably down Baker Street, both with their hands stuffed in their pockets against the cold, their arms brushing occasionally as they walked next to each other.

"I thought we could go for a walk around Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park," John explained, "It's cold out but the sun is shining and I could do with some fresh air. That ok?"

"Of course," Sherlock answered agreeably, "Whatever you feel like."

It didn't take long to get to the park and they strolled along, following the paths. After an hour or so they ended up buying coffees and sitting on a bench in the middle watching the people as they went past. Sherlock entertained John by deducing all kinds of salacious details about the people John selected for him.

"Oooh, Sherlock, do him," John pointed to a grey-haired business man in glasses and a suit walking on the path past where they were sitting.

"John! This is the science of deduction, not some party trick," Sherlock's tone was reproving, but his eyes were dancing. "Besides, there is nothing interesting about a man with a penchant for women's underwear."

"No!" John managed mock outrage at such a thing, before being unable to resist asking, "Under the suit…?"

"Pink and lacy, and almost definitely holdups too."

First John sniggered, then Sherlock joined him, and before long the two of them were giggling like naughty schoolboys.

'_I love this,' _thought John, then paused, wondering if it was the potion talking or him.

'_I love this_,' thought Sherlock, then paused, wondering if John would be so free with his enjoyment if he hadn't been drugged.

oOo

Finally, after a few more deductions and the remainder of their coffees, John started to feel the cold and the need to move on. He had a plan for the afternoon so it was time to head out of the park and go find a taxi.

Their path ended up following along the Serpentine, and this is where John's reactions started to get a little weird. Sherlock was surreptitiously monitoring John's reaction to everyone they passed, waiting to see if anyone sparked his interest and proved the formula was working. The dose he'd given was only mild so John would be able to control it, but Sherlock thought it should manifest itself in visible lust at some point, even if just a second glance at a pretty girl.

Sherlock was focusing on the people around them, trying to steer John subtly to get him to pay attention to the women coming past who the detective deduced were most like John's 'type' and therefore the ones he was most likely to show a formula-enhanced reaction to. Unfortunately for Sherlock, John's attention was on something completely different. At the end of the path were a brace of ducks, waddling along the grass quacking to each other. On a normal day John would ignore said ducks and carry on walking, but today he was completely entranced and stopped to watch them for some minutes, until Sherlock impatiently tugged on his arm.

"John?"

"Oh, sorry Sherlock. I was just… it's just… um… aren't ducks brilliant?"

"Ducks? Well I suppose so," Sherlock replied gamely, trying to think of any interesting facts he had about ducks. Drawing a blank he instead decided to ask, "John, what's going on?"

"Well… I might not be a consulting detective or anything, but I reckon that your latest formula has kicked in because all I want to do right now is gather up the ducks and take them home with us so I can feed them and look after them, and make sure they will be safe." John glanced up at Sherlock, grinning in amusement at his own feelings, before quickly looking back at the ducks, "Pretty sure that's not my typical response when confronted by water fowl."

Sherlock frowned - yet another version of his experiment that didn't go quite as he expected. At least since toning back on the obliviousness factor seen in his first compound John was conscious of what he was doing and able to accept on some level the oddness of it.

"Um, Sherlock," John interrupted his friend's musing, "I might need some help moving on from here… don't think I can actually leave by myself. It's getting harder to ignore."

Sherlock smirked at John's predicament but willingly grabbed his hand and helped steer him away from the ducks, keeping hold of him until they were out of the park and he was hailing a taxi.

"Wellcome Collection, Euston Road," Sherlock told the driver.

"How did you guess that?" John was dismayed, "I was planning on surprising you with it. There's an exhibition running about artists who were based in medical research centres across the world. I thought it sounded interesting and something you might enjoy."

"And I will John, hence my directing the cab to take us there. If you want to keep such things secret you really should delete your internet history more often. Either that or stop living with someone who makes their living detecting."

John rolled his eyes but said nothing. He wasn't that bothered - Sherlock seemed willing to go along with his ideas for the day, so what did it matter?

During the cab ride John couldn't help but notice his instant fascination with every animal he could see. Not that there was much choice in central London but the odd person walking a dog caught his attention and his eyes instinctively followed them until out of sight. It was most disconcerting.

"I think I know what this version of your love potion does Sherlock," John muttered, speaking quietly so the cabbie wouldn't be able to hear.

"Oh?" Sherlock turned from gazing out of the window to look at John. He raised one eyebrow in query and waited for John to elaborate.

"I'm sure you've guessed already…"

"I don't _guess_ John, I _deduce._" Sherlock told him haughtily, already turning back to his window, offended.

"Don't be like that Sherlock, you know that's not what I meant." John pulled on his sleeve until Sherlock deigned to face him again. "Anyway, I think I've worked it out. This version makes me want to look after things. So far it has mostly been animals - ducks and dogs - but I get the feeling if I see a lost child I'm going to want to do everything I possibly can to get it back to its parents. It feels a bit weird actually. Like I should be out there saving the world."

Sherlock was curious. "Does it make you protective of everyone? Or just those more vulnerable than you?"

"Good point. Just those smaller than me I think. I mean, I'm not feeling the need to guard you from the world around us, so that's probably a good sign." John grinned, "Especially given the amount of trouble you get into on a daily basis - my work would never be done."

oOo

They made it to the gallery without incident and had a most enjoyable couple of hours looking at the exhibition and discussing all the pieces (thankfully a pet-and-small-child-free zone). Sherlock's expertise on art was varied - for some elements he had an almost encyclopaedic knowledge but for others he knew next to nothing. It made for interesting discussions with John who knew a little about everything, so could fill in some of the gaps for Sherlock whilst Sherlock could add depth in areas for John.

The gallery was followed by a quiet pub on a backstreet that John knew of, where they sat in a corner with a couple of drinks and continued to chat and put the world to rights until both men were yawning and John's stomach was growling at the lack of dinner. Eventually they conceded defeat and took a taxi back to Baker Street, picking up a takeaway enroute.

"Thank you," said John simply as they went up the stairs to their flat. "I had a good time today, even with the odd effects of the formula making me weirdly protective of smaller beings."

Sherlock merely hummed in response, but he too thought it had been a surprisingly enjoyable day. If only he could work out what had gone wrong with his formula…

oOo

"The problem I have now John, is that you aren't showing the right _kind_ of love," Sherlock groused as they finished their meal at the kitchen table.

"What do you mean?"

"Well. Using the definitions of the Ancient Greeks, you have displayed symptoms of _Philia_ love - loyalty to friends and family, and nurturing qualities. Maybe even _Agape_ love if we stretched the definition - somewhat idealistic, focused on what's inside. What we are aiming for, the love Mrs Warwick experienced, was more sexual - _Eros _if you will."

"So a love of the body rather than the soul?"

"I'm impressed," Sherlock admitted, "You know the concepts?"

"Sometimes I think you forget that even if I'm not a genius like you, I am an educated man. Medical degree and all that." John chided.

Sherlock dismissed that with an inelegant snort, not deigning it worth a proper response.

"So…" John prompted.

"So, the next formula will need to focus on manipulating your sexual desires. How fascinating! I can see I'm going to have to think of a whole new set of metrics to measure…" Sherlock continued talking as he left the room, his mind already racing through the issues and proposing solutions, John's presence forgotten.

"Great." John said to himself, "Because combining sex, drugs and Sherlock isn't going to end badly _at all_."

* * *

_Summary of S. Holmes experiment notes - use of chemical stimulation to promote an indiscriminate strong attraction and personal attachment ('Love') in test subject for a controlled period of time._

Week 3 (2): compound 2013107 #04

Subject: John H. Watson MD

Notes: Unfortunately this version of the compound failed to provide the expected response. Although all the negative outcomes of sample #03 were removed I still failed to see a full manifestation of 'love' in the sense that the experiment was designed to portray. An emotional response was received but it was protective rather than lustful. And strangely directed towards animals John thought needed looking after. Must reduce that element quickly - no desire to come home to a flat full of pets one day. Will look at focusing on the manifestation of lust in iteration #05.

Outcomes: Emotional attachment observed. We have at least progressed from kitchen appliances to living creatures. Not to human interaction yet though.

Conclusion: Nurturing / caretaker element of subject's personality intensified. Further experimentation required to progress from protection to desire.

* * *

**A/N - **

Thanks to everyone following this story - you are all awesome! Next chapter should be up early next week (prob Tuesday)…

Reviews, con crit and other feedback always welcome. I love hearing what you think of my story x


	6. Love potion number - 5 (pt 1)

John turned to face Sherlock.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course John, I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. We agreed you needed a more encouraging environment than home to test the properties of this iteration of the formula. I want to test whether it will make you have a physical and emotional reaction to someone - that's hardly going to happen in our living room now is it?"

"No Sherlock," John replied automatically, while a tiny voice in his mind prompted that it _was perfectly possible_ in their living room only Sherlock might not like the results. John was doing his best to ignore this voice which had been getting more and more vocal over the last few weeks. The version of the potion that left him stroking Sherlock's hair while he slept hadn't helped, and surprisingly neither had the last one. Spending the day with his best friend just having fun, without interruptions from the police or private clients had been lovely, and had reminded him all too clearly how much he enjoyed Sherlock's company. Even the rage-monster version had unintentionally focused him on Sherlock. All he had cared about was trying not to hurt his friend.

He told himself repeatedly it was purely platonic - just friendship - but he had a sinking feeling it was a little more than that. Maybe Sherlock was right about going out that evening? If this latest version worked as Sherlock had implied then he was going to be grateful for distractions before the end of the night.

"Now John, the club I'm taking you to is very exclusive, so you will need to dress the part," Sherlock told him as he dripped three drops of the new formula onto John's tongue. Sherlock frowned as he looked John up and down, as though registering his friend's appearance for the first time. "Go shower," he ordered, "I'll leave appropriate clothing on your bed."

John debated arguing but decided that Sherlock's dress sense was undoubtably better than his own, and Sherlock knew their destination, so it was best to just let him get on with it. Sherlock's intended desire of observing him interact with all the no-doubt beautiful people in the club whilst under the influence of his lust-making potion would be best served with John looking his best, so there was no reason not to trust him with this.

"Thanks," John said with a grateful smile, and headed off to the shower.

oOo

"How do I look?" John asked Sherlock as he came down the stairs, uncharacteristically nervous of his physical appearance. Sure, his body was in good shape thanks to the years in the army, and their frequent evenings chasing criminals across rooftops. But he usually dressed for comfort rather than to impress. Even his dates got treated to the same tried and tested combinations of trousers and shirts. The jeans Sherlock had left for him were rather tighter than he usually wore, much to his discomfort (although under duress he would have to admit they did look good - and under extreme duress he might be forced to agree they did _amazing_ things to his arse), but the shirt was one of his favourites, which helped.

Sherlock looked him up and down approvingly and gave him a reassuring, "You will have no problems attracting potential partners to talk to. The blue in the shirt brings out the colour of your eyes."

John finally looked up from inspecting his own outfit and only just managed to withhold a gasp at Sherlock. _And I thought my jeans were tight!_ He thought appraisingly, hastily averting his eyes before Sherlock noticed. Sherlock was dressed in a fitted dark green shirt with one too many buttons undone over obscenely tight black jeans. His hair was slicked back and he looked, well, _delicious,_ John's mind supplied unhelpfully. He sighed. This was going to be a long evening.

"Ready? Shall we go?" John asked, gathering his coat and passing Sherlock his Belstaff.

Sherlock nodded and waved his arm in one of his trade mark 'yes, let's go' gestures as he pulled his coat on, stumbling in the doorway as his arm got caught in the sleeve. John, his equilibrium partly restored by Sherlock's inelegant exit, grinned and led the way down to Baker Street and an awaiting taxi. It was a night out after all, he might as well make the best of it.

oOo

It was a risk. Sherlock knew that. John would be beyond annoyed if he found out. But he couldn't resist. Unbeknown to John, Sherlock had put the 'inebriation factor' back into his formula, along with a weakened version of the tactile effect he'd recorded for formula #2. He wanted to see how John interacted without his natural inhibitions coming into play. He had fobbed John off earlier when asked about the contents of this latest experiment… not _lied_ exactly, but not been entirely forthcoming with all the salient details.

Sherlock knew it was wrong and he was taking advantage of John's trust, but his desire to get a good result for his experiment was outweighing his concerns. He consoled himself with the knowledge that John had forgiven him all of his transgressions to date so odds were in his favour that he would get away with this one too.

Hopefully.

oOo

They got to the club and climbed out of the taxi. Before John had even finished paying, one of the bouncers had recognised them and called out, "Sherlock! Long time no see." The two doormen treated Sherlock like a long lost friend and he greeted them both by name. After exchanging pleasantries they had ushered the men in to the warmth of the building, waving away offers to pay the entrance fee. John merely raised an eyebrow at Sherlock in query.

"Case last year," Sherlock explained once they were on their own, "The head barman was implicated in a robbery and I proved him innocent, and caught the real thief. They are a close-knit team here and they were grateful I saved their friend from prison. I met most of them over the course of the investigation as it was more convenient to talk to Adam - the barman - here than it was at his home."

John smiled at him, pleased to see evidence of yet another occasion where Sherlock's actions had transformed a life.

"So," he said, pulling on Sherlock's arm, "What now? A drink at the bar?"

Sherlock merely steered them to the cloakroom to divest themselves of their coats, then led the way to the main room of the club.

John held back at the entrance, observing. It was pretty much like every other club he'd ever been in to - hot, dark and noisy with a combination of chatter and loud music. The crowds were light so far and the dance floor almost empty, but it was still relatively early. He sped up and joined Sherlock at the bar.

To his surprise and pleasure there was a pint waiting for him. "Thought I was supposed to avoid alcohol so as not to corrupt the study?" he asked.

"I did some tests at home on the impact of alcohol on the formula. A couple of drinks will speed up the effects but won't have much impact overall. I will ask you to avoid drinking any more than two though."

"Sounds reasonable. Cheers." John tapped his glass against Sherlock's and drank deeply. He felt himself relax and he leant back against the bar and swept his gaze around the room. _God I'm out of my depth in here, _he thought ruefully, looking at all the stunningly beautiful women and men surrounding him. He glanced back at Sherlock, also leaning against the bar, and felt a stab of envy. _He fits in perfectly with this crowd with his skin-tight jeans, those cheekbones and that superior attitude. Even if I wanted to do anything about how I think I might feel about him, how can I? Out of my league. _

But this wasn't about Sherlock, so he set his mind to the task ahead. Find a pretty girl (or boy) and see if Sherlock's wonder potion would make him fall.

"So what's the plan?" He asked Sherlock.

"I thought we'd stay here while you finish your drink, then go for a walk around. The formula should be starting to kick in now."

"Yeah, think my pulse rate has gone up," John agreed, "But it's difficult to tell in here. Are you using different markers tonight to monitor success? Don't think your usual ones are going to work…"

Sherlock frowned momentarily, "I did consider that. I thought we could check your heart rate and pupil dilation when possible, but otherwise I will have to rely on my own empirical evidence to determine success."

John hummed and dropped the conversation, happy that Sherlock would be looking to monitor him so would likely keep him out of too much trouble. A small part of his brain registered that this lack of concern was probably chemically induced, and not sensible. But it was quickly drowned by a wave of lust as a woman with long brown curls, a tiny silver dress and a truly wicked smile stepped up to the bar next to him and gave him a grin as she ordered her drink.

Without a thought to the consequences John segued straight into flirting mode and gave her a warm "Hi" in greeting as she waited for the barman. Before long they were laughing, and then he leant forward to whisper something in her ear which earned him a squeal and a thump on the arm in response, but also yet another dazzling smile and a hand stroking down his arm where she had hit him.

Sherlock stood beside John and watched him while a swath of conflicting emotions swept over him. He was trying to stay impartial, to just observe so he could record the effects of the formula for his study but he couldn't help but be swayed by his emotions.

To his surprise the overriding feeling he had was one of envy. He envied John for his easy-going nature and his ability to walk into a place like this and feel at home while Sherlock felt gauche and unsure of himself. Sherlock could never engage in conversation with a stranger in the natural way John did. Sure he could mimic it, but it was all an act, carefully studied. John just had to open his mouth and he was effortless charm. _He could have anyone in here, _thought Sherlock miserably, _formula or not. Even if I wanted to do anything about how I think I might feel about him, how can I? He'd never be interested in me._

While Sherlock was lost in his thoughts John had disentangled himself from the silver-dress woman and was looking at Sherlock, waiting for him to come back to the real world. John tried calling to him but the music was too loud so he grasped his hand. Sherlock looked down at his hand caught in John's in confusion then looked up at John's face.

"Thought you were supposed to be watching out for me?" John commented wryly.

"I apologise," said Sherlock, somewhat stiffly. A pause, then curiosity won out, "What happened to the girl?"

"Her? Oh, not my type." John dismissed the idea that she had been anything other than a momentary distraction.

Sherlock's mind sharpened at the obvious lie. He had seen John's physical reaction to the woman - he had most definitely been interested in her, and her body language had indicated that she was interested in him in return. So what had happened? The current version of the formula should have made it near-impossible for John to let her go of his own accord. Perhaps he had been distracted by someone else? But there was no-one else in the vicinity that John was paying any attention to…

_I'm losing my touch,_ Sherlock thought grumpily, _not one version of this cursed formulation has done what I expected it to do. Why is this one not working? He should be falling in lust with someone right now. I did the calculations. I _know_ I'm right. _

oOo

Sherlock was about to hit full sulk mode and his bottom lip was edging dangerously close to a pout when John pulled the hand he was still holding and hauled Sherlock over to the small dance floor. It had filled up since they had arrived and was now pleasantly crowded - enough to have atmosphere but still enough space to actually dance.

"Dance with me Sherlock," John pleaded, smiling up at him, "Come on, it will be fun."

Sherlock knew he should resist. But nodded instead and moved with the music. He was a good dancer and it had been a long while since he'd indulged. For once he decided the experiment could wait - he needed to get rid of some of the pesky pent up emotions he had flowing through his body, and a bout of physical exertion would undoubtably help clear his mind. Closing his eyes he swayed with the music, allowing it to drive his moves as he slowly got caught up in the beat.

Unknown to him, John was watching with his mouth open in amazement. _Geez! I knew Sherlock was passionate - I hear him playing the violin often enough, but I never realised he could be so sensual. The way he moves… it's like sex. Really, really _good _sex. _For John, under the influence of Sherlock's formula, this was all he needed to ignite the flicker of interest within him and turn it into an overarching desire.

Sherlock could feel another body moving with his, a hand lightly anchored on his waist. He kept his eyes closed, sensing it was John, and that their rhythms matched well enough that he could just lose himself in the music. He knew that even with the compound affecting him, John would keep him safe. He let himself go, and it was heaven. It had been so long since he had allowed his body a physical release like this.

Eventually the music changed and Sherlock stilled and opened his eyes. He was lost for a moment, the objectives of the evening forgotten, until the hand on his waist squeezed slightly and he looked up to see a very dangerous look in John's face. Suddenly dancing in such close contact didn't seem such a good idea and he began to back away off the dance floor.

"God Sherlock," John shouted admiringly over the music, "I never knew you could move like that."

"Well John, you don't know everything about me," Sherlock disassembled, flashing John a false smile as he did. It wasn't the look John was giving him that scared him, it was the fact it was chemically-induced and would be gone the next morning. John wouldn't even remember this, but Sherlock would, in excruciating detail. What to do? Indulge and get a taste of what he craved? Or do the 'right thing' and step away? They hadn't set any parameters around interaction between themselves, but it was clear John was only doing this because of the fake lust. Sherlock knew John would never approach him otherwise.

With a sigh of regret Sherlock decided he would do the right thing, personal wants be damned. Unfortunately for him, John had entirely different plans and it was with some shock that Sherlock realised that John had been busy while Sherlock had been debating with himself and they had been slowly but inextricably moving away from the dance floor into a shadowy corner. Sherlock glanced into John's eyes and realised with a flash of both pleasure and dismay that the look John was giving him now was that of a lion eyeing up a tasty antelope. _ Oh._

oOo

Sherlock was being backed into a wall. He tried to protest, to move away, but John continued his relentless stalking. Sherlock absently observed that John's pupils were blown, and his breathing had sped up with arousal. Sherlock surreptitiously checked his own pulse with a finger on his wrist - racing, as expected. He looked to each side - people everywhere - no escape. With a breathy whine he leant back against the wall, palms pressed against it, succumbing to the inevitable, and watched the expression on John's face turn from predatory to victorious.

John leant forward, arms either side of Sherlock, trapping him. He nuzzled the detective's cheek with his own, letting out a throaty huff of laughter at the involuntary gasp from Sherlock at the contact.

"Now, what _shall_ I do with you Mr Holmes?" John leant forward to murmur in his ear, his voice dropping several octaves to something Sherlock had never heard before. This was definitely not Doctor John Watson. No, this was Captain _'three continents' _Watson RAMC_. _One hand had left the wall and was now toying with Sherlock's shirt around the open buttons at his chest, a finger slipping inside to stroke his skin. Sherlock moaned and finally registered in his mind that there was an exit available to him now. If he wanted to, he could simply step to the side and escape.

_If. _

Sherlock held his breath, waiting to see what John would say or do next.

John didn't disappoint.

With a smirk John licked his lips, his eyes appraising. He took the hand from Sherlock's shirt and cupped his head, grasping his hair with a light but controlling grip, pulling him down. He licked a path along Sherlock's jawline back up to his ear and let out a growl of desire as he nibbled lightly on Sherlock's earlobe. And then, with Sherlock breathless and quivering with need, without really knowing what it was he wanted, John reached up and, agonisingly slowly, kissed him.

_To be continued…!_

* * *

**A/N - **

Hurrah for John! Although don't expect the course of chemical love to run smoothly - there are a few more potion iterations to be worked through after all! Part two will be up later in the week…

Thanks to everyone following this story - it makes me squee with pleasure every time I get an email saying I've got a new follower or a review. I love hearing what you think x


	7. Love Potion number - 5 (pt 2)

With a jaw cracking yawn John sloped into the kitchen, lifting his shirt absently to scratch lazily at his stomach as he opened the fridge and debated breakfast foods to combat his slight hangover versus the usual random body parts. Turning around with a pint of milk in his hand he jumped in surprise.

"Oh, hey Sherlock, didn't see you there." He greeted his friend, who was already firmly ensconced at his microscope. Sherlock didn't look up or respond but that was nothing new, and John merely put the kettle on.

He bustled round the kitchen half asleep, frying bacon for bacon sandwiches and making mugs of hot tea. Once done he deposited a plate and a steaming mug in front of each of them and sat down with a contented sigh.

"So," said John, smiling with satisfaction after a sip of his drink, "Oh that's good, I really needed tea. Anyway, what happened last night? I remember the taxi and going to the club, and standing at the bar, and then everything is a little hazy. Bit like the first formula you tried on me actually."

Sherlock's shoulders stiffened imperceptibly at the question.

"Oh _Sherlock_!" John groused jumping to immediate conclusions, "I didn't make an idiot of myself did I? You _promised_ if we went out that you would look after me."

Sherlock flashed a quick glance at John before picking up the mug of tea and taking a sip. He held the hot mug in his hands as he cautiously responded. "No, John, you didn't do anything that would embarrass you in the eyes of others at the club." _You danced with me John, then you backed me up against a wall and pinned me to it, then kissed me._

"Well that's good." John was easily appeased - his focus now on the sandwich. "I'll want details later of course. No doubt you have lots of stories of me making a fool of myself in front of pretty girls. Plenty of ammunition to use against me to ensure I do other harebrained experiments like this in the future." He smiled at his flatmate fondly, fully aware that any teasing would be good natured, and Sherlock would have stopped him making a _complete_ fool of himself the previous night.

"Of course." _If I tell you what actually happened you'll probably never do another experiment for me again. That's if you even want to be friends still. _

oOo

Breakfast over, John cleared away the plates and refilled the mugs. He sat down again at the table facing Sherlock and waited. Sherlock raised one eyebrow in query but didn't say anything.

"Come on," John smiled, "Dish the dirt. Spill the beans. I know you want to."

"I'm sorry?" The eyebrow lifted once again.

"Tell me what I got up to under the influence of your damned Love Potion Sherlock. Like I said, I don't really remember much…"

Sherlock gave a half smile and played with a petri dish. "There really isn't much to tell John. Why don't you tell me what you can remember and I'll fill in the gaps?" _And I can see how much of the truth I need to twist before I tell you._

"Ok, that seems like a good place to start." John agreed, "So… we got a taxi and went to the club. You knew the bouncers?"

"Yes, from a case last year."

"Right - thefts. I remember. Hmmm… I recall standing at the bar with you and drinking a pint. We had a chat about how you were going to measure success when you couldn't easily check the physical markers you usually do like pulse and pupil dilation." John paused and looked up at Sherlock, "Speaking of which, how _did_ you decide to quantify your success?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Really John it's very basic. I simply observed. My skills in observation and my knowledge of your habits and typical responses to stimuli gave me a benchmark to compare last night to." _That and when you leant forward to kiss me you were so close I could see every detail - the blown pupils, the rapid breathing; every beat of your heart. _

"Oh. Good. Right-oh." John spoke absently as he frowned, trying to piece together his memories of the night before. "Was there a girl in a silver dress?"

"Yes. She came to the bar to get a drink and you flirted outrageously with her." _While I stood watching, wishing it was me and resigning myself to going back to Baker Street alone even though we'd only just got there and I had been foolishly rather looking forward to spending the evening with you, drugged or not._

"God! Did I really? I remember laughing with her about a ridiculous story about her friend's cat, but that was about it. Did I dance with her? I remember dancing with someone…" John took another sip of tea as he thought about it, trying to recall the details of his dance partner.

"You did indeed dance." _With me, with your hand on my waist, keeping me close as we moved in time._

"Well I don't recall dancing exactly, but I do remember how I felt about it. I remember putting my hand on her." John's mind stuttered at the gender-specific pronoun. _Had_ he been dancing with a woman? Sherlock hadn't been specific. Or was it a man? He dismissed it for the moment to consider again later. "On _their_ waist. I had my hand on their waist and we were dancing with the music. It was hot… sultry… Don't laugh, but the memory I have of it is rather lewd. I mean, I know dancing can be like that anyway, but with the formula all I remember is a feeling of a rush of blood, of moving, pulsing bodies. Like sex. No idea what the music was or how long we danced… that's all a blur"

"Why would I laugh?" Sherlock managed a scornful expression at such a thought, "This is all useful data to add to my notes." _You thought I was hot? Our dancing reminded you of sex? More to the point, you still think this even though the formula has worn off? _

"Yeah, I guess it was the chemicals talking but I get the feeling we were connecting pretty well on the dance floor."

"What do you remember of what happened next?" Sherlock's hands were clutching his warm mug of tea, holding it in front of him as though the china would shield him from whatever John said next.

John sighed and stood up and started pacing the kitchen, racking his brain for more details. "I don't know. I think you might have to help me with this one. Oh, was I dancing with the silver-dress girl? Or was it someone else? I thought for a moment it might have been a bloke." John smiled, unconcerned about the answer, just interested.

Sherlock was in a quandary. Did he confirm that John's dance partner had been male and therefore make himself more vulnerable, or did he lie and risk being found out later? He opted for a half-truth. "Yes, you did dance with a man." _Me._

John grinned, "That's good. I keep getting flashes of reaching up to someone, and I was sure the silver-dress girl was shorter than me. Thought my height perceptions got mixed up or that my memory of her was completely wrong." He took the empty mugs over to the sink, feeling the need to keep moving as he spoke as though the motion might help prompt his memories. "I remember…" John stopped suddenly, half-way back to the table, and flushed a bright red. He groaned. "…Oh god. I kissed him. Dancing wasn't enough so I backed him up against a wall and kissed him."

"Did you?" Sherlock managed to sound interested while keeping his expression impassive. _Yes John, you kissed me. You pinned me up against the wall and then when I was breathless and eager for you, you brushed your lips against mine and it was ridiculously tender and sweet. Given the chemical-induced lust I thought you were going to be all teeth and tongues and fiery passion but instead I got a mere ghost of a kiss before you groaned and fell against me with a comment about 'Sherlock, the things you do to me.' Not that I could reply. You stole all my words with that one kiss. _

"Yeah," John smiled softly, "It was… nice."

At that moment Sherlock's phone chimed with a text message. He reached into his pocket and frowned at the screen before his eyes lit up. "Molly's got some lungs for me. Excellent!"

John grinned good-naturedly at the detective and waved him away. "Go play with Molly in the morgue. We can continue this later when you don't have some nice fresh lungs waiting for you. Who knows, I might remember a bit more if I give it some time."

Sherlock flashed a quick smile of gratitude at John before grabbing his coat and heading out of the door texting Molly to tell her he would be there presently, his mind on the promise of Barts, lungs, and a laboratory to experiment in. The problem of John would wait.

oOo

By the time Sherlock got back to the flat it was early evening and he was in a good mood from the day's experiment. He'd been waiting for a pair of lungs from a smoker of a specific brand of cigars for months, and they hadn't disappointed. Not only had the dissection been fascinating, but the results were enough to close one of Lestrade's cold cases which would please him too.

John was sitting in his chair waiting in the living room when Sherlock got back, and put down the book he had been reading in order to focus on his friend and listen to him eagerly recount all the gory details. John loved seeing Sherlock like this - vivacious and full of life. _It is a privilege to see him like this, _he thought, _he doesn't let his mask of cold indifference slip for many. _Once again there was a twinge of regret that this was all Sherlock wanted from him. But John was a realist, and he knew he would much rather have Sherlock as a friend than lose him completely.

Eventually Sherlock finished and sat back, satisfied. "Did you recall any more from last night?" Sherlock asked, feeling willing to risk bringing the subject up again now he had spent time away from the flat and had got his thoughts in order a bit.

"A little. But not as much as I'd hoped." John admitted, "Like I said, I remember kissing a guy but I don't really remember much else from the club. Next thing was in the taxi on the way home. I have a horrible feeling I need to apologise for trying to cuddle you most of the way home…" John winced in recollection before he thought of something else, "… Did you add the tactile element back in or something? If so it is completely your own fault that I couldn't stop touching you, and I withdraw my apology."

Sherlock had the grace to look contrite and muttered a quiet, "No apology necessary John."

_What else did you do in the club? You drove me crazy. You found us a seat in a booth where you tried to sit in my lap and play with my hair while you interspersed more of those impossibly sweet kisses with whispering in my ear all the filthy things you wanted to do to me when we got home. I wanted nothing more than to kiss you back and let you do all those delicious things you promised. But I told you repeatedly that we couldn't do this, that you weren't yourself and you'd regret it in the morning even though you swore you wouldn't. _

_Eventually we made a deal. I agreed that if you could remember everything that happened when you woke this morning then you did indeed consent and I would invite you to my bed. At that point you finally agreed we could go home, so we got a taxi and you curled up against me and cuddled me all the way back to Baker Street. There is nothing to apologise for. I should be the one apologising to you for taking advantage of you like that. I should have pushed you away, refused you, but I let you do it all so I could enjoy one night of pretending that I was the one you wanted. _

"Ah well, you'll learn next time not to sit near me after you've dosed me if you add that part in again," John was unrepentant and grinning now, his mind at ease. "So did you get enough of a result to prove the case? Or will we have to do this all again next week?"

"Oh John, of course it wasn't enough - surely you know that repeatability is key?" The scorn in Sherlock's voice was clear as he continued, "Last night was an exercise in proving the formula would work under perfect conditions. Now we have to prove it works under imperfect conditions. Mrs Warwick wasn't in a darkened bar with a selection of people to chose from - she was at home and presented with one man who she had never met before who she managed to 'fall in love' with. No," the Detective said decisively, "There will definitely have to be further experiments. It would be a shame to stop now when I'm so close to an answer."

John merely sighed in an exaggeratedly long-suffering way and picked up his book again, satisfied the conversation was over for the time being.

oOo

Later that night John lay in his bed in the darkened room thinking about the previous evening.

_Sherlock's hiding something. Git. He promised he'd tell me everything. Not that I expected him to actually keep to that, but still. I don't know what it is he isn't telling me but there's something odd going on. When we talk about last night he looked… sad. _

_I hope it wasn't me who caused it. But if I had, surely he'd tell me? It must have been something that happened in the club. But his description of the evening sounds fine. Tame even, considering. All I did was kiss a random guy and get a bit handsy with Sherlock in the taxi home. How on earth could that have bothered him? I mean, given how I've been feeling about him recently I was worried I'd made a fool of myself making a pass at him or something, but obviously not. He's not exactly one for softening the blow. If I'd done such an idiotic thing and he'd turned me down he would have no problems telling me. Probably in excruciating detail knowing Sherlock. _

_No, I've not got the slightest idea what it was. But I'll find out. Eventually. If Sherlock won't tell me then perhaps I'll remember on my own in time. And I'll make it right. Whatever it was. He's my best friend, and I hate to see him like this. _

* * *

_Summary of S. Holmes experiment notes - use of chemical stimulation to promote an indiscriminate strong attraction and personal attachment ('Love') in test subject for a controlled period of time._

Week 4: compound 2013107 #05

Subject: John H. Watson MD

Notes: Iteration #05 has been the most successful yet, although work still needs to be done to refine the formula to the level seen in Mrs Warwick in the original case. The subject showed both an emotional attachment and desire when under the influence of the chemicals. The effect however was short lived and did not appear to be as objective as it should have been. John was able to reject his original target and instead transferred his lust onto another. I can only assume this transfer was due to familiarity with the other, and therefore an ease of moving from the protective qualities seen in previous formulas to the desire I was aiming for. Next version will need to look at whether the mood of the subject can be controlled. I would like to ensure he remained in a positive mental state throughout.

Outcomes: Human interaction achieved, although somewhat unexpected results. This requires further analysis and more testing.

Conclusion: #05 has proved that desire can be induced. However the results were not stable and further replication is required before this can be said to prove the case conclusively.

* * *

**A/N - **Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out - I had a complete change of plans for how I was going to approach it prompting a lengthy rewrite (worth it though!). Chapter 8 (potion no. 6) will be up on Monday.

Reviews, con crit and other feedback always appreciated x


	8. Love potion number - 6

The week following the night at the club was filled with violin music at 221b. John was used to the sound of it whenever Sherlock was stuck on a tricky issue and needed distraction for his brain to work through it, but he was a little unsure what the cause of the brain-block was this time. There were no open cases other than the Warwick's, and John didn't think Sherlock cared enough about that one to get so concerned about it. John thought for Sherlock that case was just a bit of fun - an opportunity to experiment on John's reactions under chemical influence. His concern for the couple who brought it to him was minimal.

It all just added to John's general worry for his friend following his reactions to the last formula.

_Least he moderates his music choices according to time of day now,_ John thought, grateful that Sherlock was cognisant enough to switch from discordant screeching to lullabies and calming music at night so as not to keep John awake.

Still, it had been a week and it was time for another experiment. Unusually Sherlock had said little about his plans this time, and John wondered if there was even a new iteration to test. For a fraction of a second John debated not reminding Sherlock of the day and letting it slip past without the trial, but he decided that would be unfair. He'd promised to help, so help he would.

_Besides, it might cheer Sherlock up, and heavens knows I've tried everything else I can think of, _was John's wry thought before resigning himself to the task ahead.

oOo

When John came down the stairs into the living room he wasn't surprised to see Sherlock sitting on the sofa with the violin in his hand. It seemed that when he wasn't playing it he spent his time caring for it, rubbing rosin into the bow and polishing the body with a soft cloth.

Taking the stand that Sherlock was not one for subtlety in his own communications so therefore would appreciate a direct approach in return, John sat down in front of him on the coffee table and waited for him to look up and acknowledge his presence. Once achieved (the barest flicker of the eyes, but John was willing to take anything on offer), John spoke.

"It's potion day Sherlock. Do you have a new one for me to try?"

That got a bigger response as Sherlock actually raised his eyes fully from the violin and looked at John for a fraction of a second before dropping his gaze once more.

"Didn't think you'd want to do any more," Sherlock muttered sulkily, "after the club."

"Idiot." John told him fondly, nudging the detective's foot with his own. "Did I say that? No, you just thought I did. I told you it was fine and you could continue the experiment until you get your results. Besides," John frowned, "Nothing bad happened last time anyway. We went to a club and I danced with some random bloke. I assume you rescued me before I did anything worse than kiss him? I know we were in a taxi together at the end of the night so I didn't get _that_ involved."

"You didn't do anything more than kiss." Sherlock confirmed, still avoiding the key element of _who_ it was John had been kissing.

"Well then. I've done worse than that thanks to alcohol on a lad's night out, and on those nights I didn't have you looking out for me." John was philosophical. "I'm a grown man Sherlock, I am perfectly capable of making decisions about the risk to my personal safety. So, bring it on. Version six. I'm ready."

Sherlock tried to scowl at John as though in a bad mood but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and John knew that Sherlock would give in.

"I do have a revised formulation," Sherlock admitted. "It is a variant of the last one, with less of the touch element, and a lighter effect overall. I think you'll find it interesting…" Sherlock trailed off, unwilling to give John the exact details. The new version should leave him open to suggestions of any kind, not just love, but not unaware of the fact. Sherlock had decided the approach he was taking before was a little too exact - it wasn't that Mrs Warwick fell in love, but that the stranger was able to convince her to do so. Not that he hadn't added in a hefty dose of feel-good chemicals too, but version six would broaden the scope of the reactions somewhat.

John grinned. "Sounds fun… when do we start?"

oOo

Three drops of a new formula and several hours waiting for it to come into action saw the flatmates sitting in the local pub. John had vetoed staying at home with the excuse that if Sherlock got to have fun experimenting on him then John could at least get a night out with him and an opportunity to inflict the effects on other people rather than the skull.

Even Sherlock had to admit it was a nice pub. It was a traditional old building with heavy wooden furniture, no music or tv, and a gentle buzz of conversation around the room from the patrons. John came here regularly with Lestrade, or his rugby mates, but had never brought Sherlock before. Not that the detective had been excluded, just that he had refused every invitation offered. Sherlock found himself relaxing despite his prejudices against socialising in somewhere like a _pub_.

John was sensibly sticking to soft drinks again this time, although Sherlock had assured him there was no need to be completely teetotal. Sherlock was nursing a whisky and looking around with interest at the other patrons. No-one of particular note, but plenty to deduce. He wondered when the formula would start working and when John would become… _biddable… _his mind supplied, with an internal smirk. The thought of forthright John, the Army Captain, being willing to do what Sherlock told him was indeed an amusing thought. Not that Sherlock would do anything that John would disapprove of, but he did think he might enjoy pushing the boundaries slightly.

Time for the first test. Midway through John's chatter on an amusing patient who had come through the clinic last time he was on shift, Sherlock interrupted.

"John?"

"Yes Sherlock?" John replied with a smile, his generally easy-going nature shining through.

"Give me your phone."

John obediently reached into his pocket and gave Sherlock his phone without comment. Sherlock was momentarily pleased with the success of this, before he realised John did this multiple times a day for Sherlock without question. He groaned to himself. _I'll need to pick something harder to test, _thought Sherlock. As John resumed his story on the patient Sherlock stopped him again.

"Now your jumper please."

John looked at Sherlock oddly, clearly wondering where the request had come from, but willingly took off his jumper and handed it to Sherlock, leaving him dressed in a simple plain shirt.

"I don't know why you'd want my jumper Sherlock?" John questioned slowly, as though aware that there was something not right about the situation but unable to pinpoint the exact issue.

"I don't, you can have it back now." And Sherlock handed back the jumper which John put back on automatically.

Satisfied with the current progress Sherlock made a comment on the story John had been telling and he was off again, seemingly unaware of the Detective's ability to influence him.

oOo

It didn't take long before Sherlock was blatantly abusing the power he had over his friend for his own amusement. He was intrigued as to the point when John would actually stop and refuse to do something or at least question it. He hadn't found that limit yet.

So far Sherlock had suggested that John:

- Remove his shoes (after which Sherlock gave him back just his left shoe until he needed to go to the bar when he returned the right shoe as well. With no explanation given, and none asked for)

- Buy himself a disgustingly sweet bright blue alcopop from the bar (although Sherlock magicked it away before John drank more than a few sips of it and swapped it for a soda and lime)

- Buy Sherlock four packets of crisps, one after another at five minute intervals, all the same flavour, even though the detective hadn't opened the ones before

- Tell Sherlock the story of his first kiss, and then, because that was so fascinating, when he lost his virginity (which was most enlightening and got marked for storage in Sherlock's mind palace immediately)

- Because Sherlock's mind was in the gutter by then… John's favourite position in bed (complete with diagrams drawn on coasters to illustrate after Sherlock refused to believe it was physically possible)

- Tell Sherlock the filthiest joke he knew (which made the detective blush deeply and made John roar with laughter in response, which in turn gave Sherlock the giggles until they were both left slightly out of breath grinning foolishly at each other across the table)

Sherlock steered clear of anything too personal or which might embarrass John at a later point. He was pretty sure John would remember it all the next day so he had to be careful, but he did admit to himself that he was having fun, and wouldn't mind coming back on a normal evening, under duress, provided the company wasn't too appalling. He'd put up with Lestrade, but John's rugby friends were a little too much for him.

Finally it was time to leave. Sherlock thought he could squeeze one last request in before the chemicals wore off and John was back to normal. So he asked him gently, "Why don't you have a look round then go talk to the person you think is the most attractive in here? See if you can convince them to let you buy them a drink? It could be a challenge…"

John grinned and took the bait. He excused himself from the table on the pretext of using the toilet, then on his return wandered around the pub rather than returning to their table. Sherlock watched him with interest, already having pinpointed the woman he thought John would be most likely to approach. He stubbornly pushed down the flare of jealously that reared unexpectedly, and forced himself to look on dispassionately. _This is an experiment_, he told himself, _besides, I've only directed him to flirt and buy a drink, not anything else. Although perhaps I should have added a further instruction to come back here afterwards? _Sherlock chewed on his lip thoughtfully as he debated this and watched John's progress. He really hoped he hadn't just caused himself unnecessary upset.

oOo

John walked carefully around the bar, looking at each person as he went. He was aware somewhere in his mind that he wasn't exactly himself and that the damned formula was probably the reason, but he knew he wasn't in any danger so he went with it.

There! A woman caught John's eye. Early thirties, not too tall, blond bob, big smile. There with friends. She was by far the prettiest he had seen in the pub that night. He approached with a smile, switching to his pulling persona and easy natural charm. Within minutes he had joined the group and was laughing with them and being introduced around the circle. It didn't take long for the woman he had his eye on to slide away from the group slightly so they were chatting one on one.

John was almost there, his mouth open with the words forming to offer to buy her a drink, when he saw Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. Without a second glance he politely excused himself from the woman and her group and made his way back to the table and his friend.

"Another drink, Sherlock?" John asked with a smile as he approached.

Sherlock looked at him with suspicion. "What?" He replied inelegantly.

"Would you like another drink?" John spoke slowly and patiently as if to a small child, his smile never wavering.

"Oh, I suppose so," Sherlock replied, distracted. He steepled his fingers under his chin as he tried to work out what had gone wrong. What was John doing over here when he was mean to be flirting over at the bar?

Sherlock was still deep in thought when John returned and placed a glass in front of him. He looked up with a jolt when John rubbed Sherlock's shoulder as he sat down.

"John?" Sherlock was cautious, "I thought you were going to buy that woman a drink?"

"Oh? Was I?" John frowned with confusion. "She was nice, but she wasn't enough really." With that, John moved the conversation on to other things, swiftly engaging Sherlock in a debate on the best way to recognise a good thai restaurant. Sherlock swore it was down to the exact location of the outside display of the menu. John swore that was utter bollocks and that Sherlock made it up as he went along, but it was light-hearted joshing and both were amused at the stance the other took.

It took until they were leaving the pub and Sherlock was swiftly emptying his glass for Sherlock to realise exactly what had happened when John fulfilled Sherlock's last suggestion.

He walked next to John the whole way home with a half smile on his lips and a surprising warmth in his heart.

* * *

_Summary of S. Holmes experiment notes - use of chemical stimulation to promote an indiscriminate strong attraction and personal attachment ('Love') in test subject for a controlled period of time._

**Week 5**: compound 2013107 #06

**Subject**: John H. Watson MD

**Notes**: Iteration #06 was a departure from previous compounds as it worked on increasing the sensitivity of the subject to suggestion and command. I am pleased to say this formula was a success with results almost exactly as planned (for the first time in this study - emotions are far harder to control than I initially posited). John was willing to do pretty much anything I told him to without question or query. It should be noted that for the sake of ongoing friendship and the unwillingness to find myself a new flatmate, I did refrain from asking or making him do anything I thought he might be uncomfortable with when the formula wore off.

**Outcomes**: Subject showed strong signs of susceptibility. If strength of formula was increased / combined with the lust-effects of compound #05 I expect we would have our elusive 'Love Potion'

**Conclusion**: Subject can be made to do as required with the compound. Care should be taken with the next version to ensure subject is unaware of this as would likely skew future results.

* * *

John was pleased to find a cup of tea on the kitchen counter for him when he got back from fetching the newspapers the next day. It wasn't completely unheard of, but Sherlock didn't often make him one so he appreciated every one he got.

It never occurred to him that anything was wrong, even when he got the faintest hint of cloves and washing powder from the rim of the cup as he drank…

* * *

**A/N - **Next time: Sherlock is a very bad man and breaks _all_ the rules! Should be up later this week, probably Wednesday/Thursday.

Thanks to everyone following this story - it makes me super-happy every time I get an email saying I've got a new follower or a review. I love hearing what you all think x


	9. Love potion number - 7 (pt 1)

**A/N ****-** over 100 followers! you guys are AWESOME!

* * *

**The Rules**

1. No leaving John alone when under the compound's influence

2. No deliberately involving other friends of John's or telling them that John is being experimented on

3. No dosing John without his consent or knowledge

4. Share all the results - no secrets

oOo

_It never occurred to John that anything was wrong, even when he got the faintest hint of cloves and washing powder from the rim of the cup as he drank…_

Sherlock had been up for most of the night perfecting version #07 of the formula. He thought that he'd finally got the mix right between touch, lust and suggestibility, with a hint of the element that left John unable to remember his actions when the chemicals wore off. Getting that bit right had been a concerted challenge - there needed to be enough of it to keep John's awareness away, but not so much that he appeared obviously drugged or forgot everything the following day. A black hole of missing memories would be suspicious to say the least.

It was the work of moments to smear the edge of John's favourite mug with the latest version in time for consumption along with his morning tea.

Sherlock told himself that his reasoning was impeccable. Without fault. It was logical that the next step of the experiment would be to see whether John's reactions were affected by his knowledge of being drugged. It made complete sense to therefore provide John with a sample of the latest formula in secret so Sherlock could observe him properly. It was against 'the rules'… but surely they were more like guidelines? John couldn't _possibly _have expected Sherlock to stick to them when they were detrimental to the experiment itself?

He told himself this, but there was a small niggling doubt in his mind that John might be more than a little angry if (when?) he found out…

oOo

John sighed with contentment as he finished reading the newspaper in the empty flat. He had managed to have a whole hour of peace to himself at home to read the paper without interruption in the form of work, mobile, or annoyingly-bored flatmates. Heaven! It wouldn't last very long, and if John was honest with himself he wouldn't want it to either, but he could definitely enjoy it once in a while.

Alas, it did indeed end far too quickly. John was in the kitchen doing the dishes when his phone beeped with a text message. He dried his hands on the tea towel and picked up the phone as another message came through;

_At the morgue. Come urgently - SH_

_Where are you John? Hurry - SH_

John smiled at Sherlock's impatience and sent his response;

'_Pass me a pen' urgent? Or 'I need your medical expertise' urgent? - JW_

Despite his teasing he was already putting his shoes on and searching for his wallet and keys to leave the flat. Another beep came as he shut the front door but he held off on reading until he was in a taxi on its way to Barts.

_I fail to see the difference John. I need you. Come immediately. SH_

John smiled at the imperious tone and quickly dashed off a reply to appease his impatient friend;

_In taxi - will be there in 10 mins. JW_

He was philosophical about the interruption. He'd got to enjoy the paper that morning and the day had stretched ahead without specific plans. At least whatever Sherlock wanted had got him out of the flat. _If nothing else, living with Sherlock definitely makes me appreciate the small things in life_, John thought with a smile.

oOo

The taxi was quick and John was soon making his way down to the morgue, carrying three coffees. He had long ago learnt that Sherlock's willingness to stop for sustenance once he was engrossed in something was almost non-existent. Far better to come prepared and face the wrath of the angry detective once he worked out John's purchases had cost him 4 minutes of additional time when he could have been helping Sherlock.

John found such rants far easier to bear with a full stomach and a hot coffee in his hand.

"Hi Molly, Sherlock. I come bearing caffeinated gifts," John greeted his friends as he walked through the door, depositing a coffee in front of each of them. Molly looked at the coffee then at him, smiling gratefully. Sherlock ignored him completely, focusing on the microscope in front of him. John leaned on the workbench and sipped his coffee as he asked Molly companionably, "So Molls, how is Toby? Still bringing you micey gifts?"

Molly giggled and launched into a story about her cat's latest escapades and before long the two were laughing, work and Sherlock forgotten.

Sherlock let the chatter wash over him as he kept his eyes on the microscope. Sherlock had a new theory about the love compound that he was currently testing with Molly's unwitting help. His supposition was that John wasn't attracted to him, per say, just to familiarity. The idea behind bringing him to the morgue in front of Molly - someone he was friendly with and comfortable around - was to see if John's reactions were the same as they were to Sherlock when he was under the influence. Not that John knew he was testing compound #07 of course.

_It won't mean anything, _Sherlock told himself, _If he flirts with her. It will just prove what I expected - that he is simply reacting to the established relationship. _But that didn't stop a sigh from escaping unbidden from his lips at the thought of losing his fantasy that John really cared about him. Sure, it might be based on the most tenuous of circumstances at present (one chemically induced evening in a nightclub didn't exactly equal undying love) but Sherlock had enjoyed it while it lasted.

What was worse than listening to John become more and more flirty with Molly was that Sherlock's reason for being at the morgue was so tenuous as to be non-existent, so he couldn't even lose himself in the work. He was looking at a slide of meaningless dirt taken from his own shoe (not that Molly knew that). Being as Sherlock knew exactly where his shoes had been there was no pleasure to be had in analysing the results. _It got John here so it doesn't matter, _Sherlock told himself dejectedly, aware that nothing was really going as he wanted it to that day.

Watching out of the corner of his eye Sherlock couldn't help but bristle at the sight of John leaning forward to brush a hair off of Molly's cheek with his fingers… which lingered on Molly far too long for Sherlock's comfort. A quick glance at John's face showed blown pupils and a light flush. He didn't need to check John's pulse to know it would be elevated. Sherlock was tied - remove himself from the room to see what happened to John and Molly without supervision therefore letting the experiment run to completion, or go with his possessive inner-mind and growl '_mine'_ at Molly while dragging John out by his sleeve.

Yet another sigh escaped from Sherlock's mouth as he rose from his stool without even a hint of a flounce. Muttering something about needing chemicals from the supply closet he walked out of the room, unusually slumped for the straight-backed detective, his despondent mood almost visible in the air around him. John didn't even notice him leave, although Molly watched with worried eyes.

"What's up with Sherlock?" She asked John once the door had shut. "He doesn't look himself today."

"Oh, no idea," dismissed John, unconcerned, "He was fine earlier. Even made me a cup of tea for once. I was sure he'd deleted the location of the tea bags in his mind palace but it appears not."

Molly giggled dutifully but her eyes betrayed her worry.

"Actually John, there's something not quite right about you too…" Molly trailed off, unable to be specific about what it was that was wrong. She couldn't say that John was being weirdly friendly. That wasn't exactly a crime. Still, Molly wasn't exactly unobservant, having been around Sherlock for this long. She knew when something wasn't right, and if John didn't know then it was a pretty good bet that Sherlock would.

"Beats me," John replied sunnily, "I feel fine. Excellent in fact. By the way Molls, have I told you how much your haircut suits you? It really is _very_ pretty." He reached out a hand again, trailing fingers through the soft curls of her ponytail, his eyes taking on a dangerous glint as he fixed her with his stare.

That was it! Molly was now certain something was up - John _never _touched her normally and now he was running his fingers through her hair. She gave a nervous giggle and glanced down, breaking the eye contact. She took a step back out of his reach, then watched as John leant forward to stay with her.

"Oh! Is that the time?" Molly's voice squeaked as she hastily made up an excuse to escape from the morgue before John got closer. She spoke quickly, "I promised Dr Ward I'd meet with him to discuss the samples he needs for his latest paper." Brushing her hands distractedly down her front and tidying her lab coat collar as she walked hurriedly out of the room, she called back behind her, "Do excuse me John."

John was left in the morgue on his own, a little bemused at how things had turned out. He'd come to help but was now sitting alone with no idea what Sherlock was looking for, or what his own role in today's tasks was. With a sigh of his own he sat on Sherlock's stool and busied himself with looking through the microscope and absently watching the bacteria racing across the surface of the slide.

oOo

It took Molly three guesses as to location but she eventually found Sherlock sulking in her office, spinning on her office chair with his fingers steepled under his chin.

She opened with the key question, "What have you done to John, Sherlock?"

He didn't deign her with a response, merely spun the chair faster.

Molly took a breath - half frustration at Sherlock, half fortification in preparation to face him in such a black mood - and put her hands on the back of the chair, stopping it suddenly mid-spin. Sherlock jerked and nearly fell off, being far too vain to move from his 'thinking' position to actually steady himself with his hands. Molly hid a small smile and turned the chair slowly until he faced her.

"I know you've done something Sherlock," She pressed, taking a more gentle tone now, "I just want to know what it is, because it is clear John has no idea."

"It's nothing." Came the muttered response from Sherlock.

"It isn't nothing, Sherlock. John's acting… very strangely."

"He agreed to it," was Sherlock's sullen response.

"Really? Agreed now or agreed in principle?" Molly was far too used to Sherlock's use of careful phrasing to let that one go past without query.

"He said I could test a formula on him. We've been trying versions for some weeks."

"Does he know he's being tested on right now?" asked Molly, on the edge of her patience with the infuriating genius.

Sherlock's response was barely a whisper, "No." His head was down now, and it was clear to Molly that regardless of Sherlock's intentions, the end result wasn't what he wanted and he was genuinely miserable.

She softened instantly, unable to stay annoyed with Sherlock for long. "What's this formula supposed to do Sherlock? Is it dangerous?"

"It's for a case… it is supposed to create an artificial strong attraction and personal attachment to a person through chemical stimulation."

Molly digested that and ran it through her internal Sherlock-translator.

"It makes him fall in love?" She tried cautiously.

Sherlock scowled and muttered "Yes".

"And you brought him here because…?" _Honestly it's like pulling teeth when he's in this kind of mood_, she thought with frustration, _and I'm not even going to begin thinking about the shocking lack of ethics Sherlock's displaying today not just with John but with me as well, because clearly I am part of this whole experiment or we wouldn't be here now._

"So I could observe his reactions to familiar people and whether he subconsciously prefers to interact with those he already knows."

"But he knows you? Can't you test this out somewhere with the two of you and some random strangers?"

At this Sherlock's face grew even darker and Molly got a sudden flash of inspiration as to the cause of Sherlock's woe. _Doesn't he know?! The are both idiots - it has been clear to everyone else since the day they met. Well, far be it for me to spoil the surprise… _Molly smiled to herself at the thought of having got one-up on the great Detective for once.

"That's the problem, isn't it. You have tried this at home and he came onto _you _and now you don't know what to do about it."

"It is simply a matter of chemical imbalances," Sherlock tried to justify himself, "It doesn't mean anything."

"Oh Sherlock," Molly chastised with a smile. "Surely you know John better than that? How about an experiment of our own? Let's go back to the morgue together and see John's reaction."

"I suppose so…" Sherlock stalled, certain that all it would do would be to prove John preferred Molly. It took him another couple of moments before he realised something vital. "You left John in the morgue? On his own?"

"Yes…" Molly wasn't sure what the problem was. Then the realisation hit, "Oh gosh! He's ready to fall in love with all and sundry and we left him unsupervised!"

Sherlock was already out of the door and half way down the corridor before Molly had finished speaking.

They took the stairs at a run and burst into the lab together. John was nowhere to be seen. Molly called out for him, looking around to check he wasn't behind one of the cabinets, when Sherlock called her off.

"He's gone." Sherlock confirmed, waving a piece of paper by his desk, "Left me a note."

_Sherlock - _

_Got a call from Greg. He needs a GP to double-check the medical record of a suspect and unfortunately I owe him a favour (don't ask) so I've gone to Scotland Yard. Don't know how long I'll be - text if you need anything. _

_See you back at the flat later,_

_John_

"Oh. That's not good." Molly couldn't help but say, even though she knew how much Sherlock hated people stating the obvious, "How long until the formula wears off?"

"Hours. It hasn't reached its peak yet."

Molly looked at him with wide eyes. "Uh, Sherlock, before John left he was playing with my hair. If I'd stayed any longer I've no doubt in thirty seconds he would have been trying to kiss me. You _really_ need to go rescue him. Or whoever it is who takes his fancy at the Yard. He won't appreciate being made a laughing stock in front of the whole homicide division."

Sherlock allowed himself one moment of true emotion as he replied with a anguished growl, "_I know!"_

_Could this day get any worse? _He asked himself rhetorically as he hailed a cab to Scotland Yard, texting Lestrade as he went to reluctantly warn him of John's altered state and John's lack of knowledge of it.

oOo

Sherlock burst into Lestrade's office in a flurry of coat and gangly limbs, to find John sitting on Greg's desk chatting to Sally Donovan who was standing next to him, leaning on the desk.

Actually, it wasn't so much chatting _to_ as chatting _up_. They were far closer than they needed to be for a conversation and John's hand might just have been touching her arm. Sherlock was about to speak and find a reason to extract John, when to Sherlock's absolute horror he realised it wasn't just John - Donovan was flirting back.

_What have I done?_ He thought in despair...

* * *

**A/N - **Poor Sherlock - he should have known that fibbing to John would only end badly for him! Part two will be posted over the weekend… As Douglas would say (for Cabin Pressure fans) John is a rabbit of negative euphoria (not a happy bunny!) and _words _will be had with idiotic flatmates who disregard the rules given.

Thanks to everyone following this story - great to see so many of you enjoying and reviewing x


	10. Love potion number - 7 (pt 2)

Greg Lestrade had been a little bemused by the first text he'd received from Sherlock that morning, but that wasn't unusual when communicating with the Detective, so he merely dashed off a text asking for clarification before wandering through to the meeting room where John was looking at some medical files for him.

"Alright mate?" Greg asked as he came through the door, "Found anything useful for me?"

John hummed and continued to flick through the file. "There might be something," He confirmed without looking up, "There's definitely something odd about the number of prescriptions being given compared to the relative seriousness of the conditions."

"Would it stand up in court?"

John glanced up from the file and met Lestrade's eyes. Something flared across his face and without blinking or answering the question he dropped the papers on the desk and walked forward towards Greg.

"Greg," he said, in a voice heavy with feeling and a good octave deeper than usual.

Greg, confused, took a step back, moving around the table until on the opposite side to John. "John?" He queried, sure that the expression his friend had was dangerous. _Killing dangerous? No… It looks like… Lust?! Why on earth is John stalking me around a conference room as though he wants to jump me?_

Just then Greg's phone beeped again - another text - and he glanced down involuntarily and saw it was from Sherlock. Suddenly the cryptic message from earlier made sense. John wasn't himself and it was Sherlock's fault. _Well that changes things,_ thought Greg, _I can deal with a chemically affected John. But I _really_ need to get him out of here and somewhere safer before other people get involved. My office will do… _

Carefully, Greg gave up circling the table away from John and instead made his way towards him, meeting him close to the door to the rest of the building. He thought quickly, sure that the easiest way to get John to comply would be to play along. He clearly thought he was attracted to Greg, which made things easier in a way. Besides, Sherlock's text had mentioned something about John being suggestible, so given the right instruction he should hopefully follow willingly.

Greg pitched his voice to match John's and grabbed his hand, "Not here, John. Why don't we go to my office?"

John nodded willingly and dropped the stalking act. He held Greg's hand and allowed the DI to walk him through the open plan offices to Greg's own office at the back. Greg strode through as quickly as possible refusing to make eye contact with anyone, aiming to get John out of sight before many people noticed. However he was hindered somewhat by John's thumb stroking the back of his knuckles as they went, and his insistence on whispering little comments in a low voice to Greg about how lovely he was.

Once they were in Greg's office the comments got a little louder and a lot more racy and Greg resolutely stopped listening, unwilling to provide further material for John's later embarrassment. Greg tried to subtly remove his hand from John's but was instead pulled back up against him as John grasped Greg's other hand too, leaning in to kiss him.

Greg panicked.

It was one thing to hold John's hand and ignore the sweet nothings he was spilling, but kissing him was completely outside of Greg's comfort zone - no matter how good a mate John was, and how outside of his control the situation was. He pushed John away forcefully and took a fortifying step back towards the door.

"John, why don't you make yourself comfortable and I'll go and, uh," Greg sought a quick excuse, "freshen up!" _that will work, _"Yes," he said decisively now he had a bit of a plan, "You stay here and I'll just be five minutes. I'll shut the door behind me, mate, don't go anywhere will you?"

"Of course not," John sounded mildly offended at the idea he would wander off, "I'll just stay here and wait for you Greg. Don't be long." And again John's voice was full of promise.

Greg exited the office as quickly as he could and shut the door firmly behind him.

"I am going to murder Sherlock sodding Holmes and there wouldn't be a court willing to convict me given how completely justified it would be right now," he announced to the office at large. Sally Donovan glanced up from her paperwork and gave him a questioning look.

"Ah! Sally, come here," Greg requested, having caught her movement out of the corner of his eye. She groaned audibly, fully aware that whatever this was she definitely didn't want to be involved, and that she'd brought it on herself by looking up at that moment.

She walked over to where Greg stood, trying very hard to act professionally and not let her feet drag.

He spoke briskly and quietly, "Sally, I've got a problem. Sherlock's done something to John Watson and he's not himself. I've got him in my office and Sherlock's on his way. I'm going to head out the front and try and catch Sherlock as he comes into the building, but can you hold the fort for me here?"

"What do you need me to do Sir?" Sally asked cautiously.

"I just need you to make sure John doesn't leave my office. He's in a, uh, flirty mood," Greg said delicately, "And of course it is Sherlock's fault but for John's sake I want to try and keep him out of the way of other people before he does something to embarrass himself."

"Okay…" Sally agreed, sure that this wasn't going to be as easy as Greg made out, particularly if Holmes was involved. Still, she liked John well enough and didn't feel the need to cause him unnecessary problems. "I'll watch the door. How long will you be?"

"Well Sherlock was texting from a cab on his way from Barts so I guess no more than 5-10 minutes."

"Fine. Go and find him Sir and I'll keep Watson out of trouble." Sally resigned herself to her role with reasonably good grace, considering, and Greg gave her a grateful grin before rushing off to the lifts to reception.

oOo

Sally settled back at her desk, keeping an eye out for movement in Greg's office. Before very many minutes had passed she saw the door handle start to turn. She stood in a rush and raced over to the door, opening it herself and walking into Lestrade's office before John could exit it. She closed the door carefully behind her before addressing the man in question.

"John? I thought you were waiting here for DI Lestrade?"

"Yeah, I was… but he's been gone a long while and I was beginning to worry." John sounded confused, as though he wasn't really sure where he was or why he was really there.

"Oh, he's fine. He got a call and had to pop out," Sally reassured John, "He'll be back any minute. Why don't you take a seat?"

John looked up at her and smiled shyly, "I could I guess. Want to keep me company while I wait?" He waggled his eyebrows mock-suggestively.

Sally laughed. _This version of John Watson is actually rather sweet. I quite like him. _"I guess I could," she agreed.

John wandered back over to Greg's desk and perched himself on it, where he had been sitting before he'd got bored of waiting. Sally came over and leaned on the desk next to him and started chatting in a friendly way, feeling fairly sure that keeping John's mind occupied on things other than DI Lestrade would be a good thing.

Before long she was giggling at a story John was telling about some of his rugby mates, and all thoughts of why she was actually there were forgotten. Sally admitted to herself that John was good company when he was trying to impress her like this and that she didn't mind being there at all. He was nothing like the imperious Holmes, who drove Sally crazy. John was a good guy, albeit one with appalling taste in flatmates.

Speaking of flatmates, it was at that moment that Sherlock burst through the door in front of them, jolting Sally back from her fantasy world and into harsh reality. John looked up first, his face questioning until he realised it was Sherlock when a massive smile burst across his face.

"Sherlock!" John cried, surprised and pleased to see his friend there, "What are you doing here? I thought it was just me and Greg working on this today?"

"I, uh, are you ok John?" Sherlock sounded flustered and a little unsure of himself, much to Sally's amusement. She had never seen him looking anything less than completely poised before.

John jumped off the desk and stood close to Sherlock. "Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" He asked softly, looking up with wide questioning eyes at Sherlock.

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly in relief that he had managed to get to John before anything too disastrous happened. "No reason John. Are you done? Shall we go home?" He replied with something far closer to his usual brisk tone.

"Uh, yes I think so. But I should see Greg before I leave. Sally, do you know where Greg's got to? I thought he was going to come back…" the confused air was back in John's voice as he tried to piece together the events of the day.

Thankfully Sally had been busy whilst Sherlock and John were talking and had called Greg to update him. "He'll be here in a moment." Sally confirmed.

"Yes, thank you Donovan," Sherlock replied grumpily, wishing he could just get out of the building without having to speak to anyone at all, let alone Lestrade who would no doubt be even angrier than Molly was at the experiment on John.

"It's not a problem," Sally smiled back sweetly, but with ice in her eyes, "I'm sure John wants to see him before he goes. After all, from the sounds of it, they were getting on _so_ well." She had no idea whether that was true or not but she'd seen how flustered Greg had been when he'd left the room, and it wasn't hard to put two and two together given the warning she'd got about John's flirty behaviour. _Holmes deserves a little payback_ she thought maliciously, although her pleasure in it fell as she saw the anguished expression that crossed Sherlock's face for a split second before he returned to his usual mask. _Huh, I guess he does care after all. _

Greg chose that moment to reenter his office, flashing a glare at Sherlock and a questioning look at Sally before bestowing a friendly smile on John.

"Alright mate," he said easily, "You off then?"

John nodded in agreement although it was clear he wasn't sure what was going on, "Yes, I guess so. Sherlock's here so we are going home."

"Good, good," Greg was brisk but warm, "Well, thanks for your help with the case, no doubt we will see you both again soon, yeah."

John gave another nod and moved towards the door.

"Sherlock, a word before you go. Sally, can you escort John to the lifts?"

"Sir," she confirmed, and led John out of the room, a hand lightly on his arm to guide him as he seemed unwilling to leave Sherlock despite wanting to follow Greg's instructions.

Once they were alone all friendliness dropped from Greg's face.

"What the _hell_ did you do to John? He tried to sodding kiss me!"

Sherlock gave an almost visible flinch at Lestrade's words. He tried to defend himself with the same story he'd told Molly about how John had agreed to being experimented on and how they had been testing this for weeks but Greg cut him off.

"I don't want to hear it, Sherlock. Now get him out of here and back to yours and be aware if anything, _anything_, happens to him while he's under the influence of your blasted experiment I will hold you solely accountable."

Sherlock tried to roll his eyes in annoyance at Greg's protectiveness but he heart wasn't in it. "I'll take him home now," he confirmed quietly, and was waved out of the office by a frustrated DI Lestrade.

oOo

The cab ride back to Baker Street was quiet. Sherlock was lost in thought and John seemed content to look out the window and watch London fly by. When they got back Sherlock paid without question and escorted John back into the flat.

To John's surprise Sherlock not only voluntarily went to the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea without being asked, but also looked in the fridge as if in a vague attempt to provide food. Having given up on deducing the edibleness of the contents of the fridge he suggested a Chinese takeaway which John agreed to and Sherlock called in.

John wasn't stupid. He might not have been aware of his actions through the day but this excessively solicitous Sherlock was a flashing neon sign of a clue. Excusing himself he took his tea up to his room where his conducted his own analysis of his symptoms, checking his pulse rate, blood pressure and pupil dilation. Unsurprisingly the results were remarkably similar to those from Sherlock's love potion experiments.

"Pompous, insufferable _git_!" John grumbled to himself, "He bloody well drugged me. I knew there was something odd about him making tea this morning. He _promised_ he wouldn't do that." John threw his stethoscope across the bed in frustration. He realised the formula must be wearing off if he was cognisant of what he was doing now, but that just made him angrier - he'd spent the day with people he knew doing goodness knows what. With a groan he lay face-down on the bed, burying his head in the pillow. _I'm screwed. No chance I didn't do something stupid at some point today. Bloody Sherlock. _

There was no point in getting into it that night. John knew it would still be a few hours before he was back to normal and he didn't want to confront Sherlock unless he had all his faculties available to him. So with a fortifying gulp of tea he headed back downstairs to eat dinner and sit in silence in front of the telly. John was hoping his silence would be dismissed by Sherlock as being another symptom of the chemicals exiting his system, as usually by that point in the previous experiments John was sound asleep.

Sherlock was almost certain John knew what was going on, but John seemed determined to ignore the fact, so Sherlock went with it. He was grateful for any excuse to avoid the conversation they would no doubt be having soon about how _irresponsible _Sherlock was and how _unreasonable_ he had been. _If I'm lucky there will be a case in the night, _Sherlock thought hopefully, _and either John will forget in the excitement, or I'll get shot and it will all become irrelevant._

oOo

John lay in bed awake for a long time that night thinking about everything that had happened. He was hurt that Sherlock had experimented on him without his agreement, but he was also realistic and admitted to himself he'd had a fairly good idea this would happen when he agreed to the whole thing some weeks ago.

What really hurt was that Sherlock had left him in the morgue alone, and then at Scotland Yard. John could have done anything - could have upset Molly or offended one of Lestrade's team - without being aware of it. It was all very well and good to make a fool of himself in front of random strangers in a pub or club, but to do so in front of his friends was a horrible thought.

John picked up his phone and sent Molly and Lestrade a text each;

_I may have said or done something to offend today. Please accept apologies - was not myself. JW_

He got quick replies from both of them;

_Don't worry! All you did was tell me my haircut was pretty :-) Did Sherlock catch up with you? Never seen him run so fast as when he got your note ;-) Molly xxx_

_Not a problem mate - Sally and I kept you out of trouble. Pub next Thursday? GL_

_BTW, Sally said Sherlock apologised to her - without prompting! Did you do something to him as well?! GL_

The responses from his friends left John deep in thought for some time. Not only were they all forgiving of anything terrible he had done, but it appeared that Sherlock had done everything in his power to get to John. He remembered how quickly Sherlock had removed them from Scotland Yard, and how his hand had hovered on John's back as though wanting to touch him but being unsure how it would be received as he had essentially shielded John from the looks and queries of the police working at their desks while they waited for the lift.

_Maybe there _is_ something there from Sherlock's side too? But if that's the case why did he drug me again? If he'd ask me I'd tell him how I felt about him. All he did today was throw me in front of other people. Was it some kind of test? Have I said or done something to him in one of the previous experiments to bring this on?_ John pondered as he settled down to try and sleep. _Maybe I have to actually tell him how I feel? Although you'd think he would have already deduced it. I wonder if he feels the same way? I can't tell - and he won't tell me. He is worth fighting for, if he wants it. Heck, if he wants me even a little, I'll fight without question. _

oOo

Sherlock was nowhere to be seen the next morning… or that evening… or the following day. In fact, Sherlock did his best impression of the invisible man for four consecutive days. The only signs of his presence in the flat were empty cups on the draining board whenever John was at work, and the sound of the front door being closed in the early hours of the morning as he either entered or left.

Finally John had had enough and sent a text to his friend telling him in no uncertain terms that either he turned up that evening for dinner or John would pack a bag and move back to his sister's for the foreseeable future. Predictably, that had the desired effect, and an anxious and sulky detective was sitting at the kitchen table when John returned home from the clinic that day.

John took his coat and shoes off slowly and made tea for them both before he spoke. Sitting down at the table opposite Sherlock he fixed him with a frown and then started.

"I don't have to tell you how annoyed I am with you. I know you know, or you wouldn't have been hiding since."

Sherlock had the grace to look slightly abashed but didn't speak.

"What you did was beyond the pale, Sherlock. Not only did you trick me and do something I had expressly forbidden, but you put our friends at risk too. What if I'd reacted badly like that earlier version and got angry and tried to hurt someone?"

Sherlock interrupted, "John, that wouldn't have happened. I removed that element completely from the compound. I am certain you wouldn't have experienced rage."

"You say that Sherlock, but you don't _know_ it. You didn't intend for that to happen the first time either. And it isn't just about anger - what if I'd tried to kiss Molly? I can be pretty forthright when I'm attracted to someone, and I might have scared her. She wouldn't have known what to do or why I was acting like that in the middle of the day in the morgue. You see why it is a problem?"

"Yes John," came the quiet response.

"So. I want two things from you."

Sherlock nodded hesitantly, waiting to hear what these conditions for forgiveness were.

"Firstly, you promise, and I mean _really_ promise this time, that you will never do anything like that again. If you want me to assist you and allow you to experiment on me then you have to be honest with me. If you break this, I won't hesitate to move out. I can't live with someone who I can't trust."

Sherlock's eyes flew open in horror and astonishment and he was quick to reply, "Of course, John, I mean it. I won't ever experiment on you like this again without your permission." _John leave? _Sherlock thought, aghast. He'd never expected the consequences to be so severe. "And the second one?"

_This is the big one_, thought John, _I don't think he will agree but it is worth a try. Here goes…_

"The next compound, number eight. You are going to develop it the same way as you've been doing the last few, and then _you _are going to be the one to take it."

* * *

_Summary of S. Holmes experiment notes - use of chemical stimulation to promote an indiscriminate strong attraction and personal attachment ('Love') in test subject for a controlled period of time._

**Week 5 (II):** compound 2013107 #07

**Subject: ** John H. Watson MD

**Notes: ** Formula administered without subject's knowledge in order to test reactions without influence. Unfortunately experiment didn't go as planned and I was unable to observe most of the subject's interactions with others. However from both my own observations and those of others I was able to deduce that the current version provided all the expected outcomes in terms of lust and drive to fall in love with those he interacted with. It is noted this happened quicker than usual, thanks to the familiarity with the people he interacted with.

**Outcomes:** Not clear. However it appears that the compound #07 acted as it was supposed to and produced comparable results to the original used on Mrs Warwick, albeit at a lower strength and therefore intensity.

**Conclusion:** The only real remaining version would be to increase the concentration of the formula in order to produce the same results as Mrs Warwick for completeness. Additionally, it is noted for further experiments involving John, that rules set at the beginning are indeed rules and not guidelines. The penalties for breaching are not inconsiderable and should be avoided at all costs.

* * *

**A/N - **Sherlock's experiences under the influence of a love potion will be posted early next week. Only two potions left now...sob!

Thanks to everyone following this story - you are all wonderful people (especially those who leave regular comments) - I adore each and every one of you! x


	11. Love potion number - 8 (pt 1)

"I really don't see what this proves John," complained Sherlock for the hundredth time.

John fixed him with a glare. "It doesn't matter whether you see or not, you are doing it, and that's that. Don't make me pin you down and force you," he threatened, "I won't like doing it but I _will_ do it if you keep trying to get out of this."

Sherlock looked down at the test tube in front of him again and sighed unhappily.

"Look Sherlock," said John gently, trying a different tactic with his recalcitrant friend, "You made this formula, so you know exactly what is in it and what the expected effects are going to be. If it was the other way round would you have any concerns about me taking it and my safety?"

"No…" Sherlock admitted begrudgingly.

"Then you need to just do this for me." John paused, then decided he wasn't too proud and pleaded, "_Please_ Sherlock. This is important to me. It's just twelve hours, and I promise I'll look after you. Lestrade already knows not to call because you told him you'd be indisposed, and you've given me a set list of places I can take you to, and we've agreed there is to be no physical interaction with anyone - whether you know them or not. I _promise_ I won't let anything happen outside of that." John knew full well that Sherlock detested the idea of being out of control and unaware of his own actions, but John wasn't going to let him get away with not doing this. Sherlock had done it to him enough times without anywhere near the care John was currently showing, so he didn't feel that guilty about it.

Sherlock continued to look at the test tube, a pipette on the kitchen table rolling under his fingers as he played with it nervously.

John reached across and laid his hand on top of his friend's to still it and said softly, "_Trust me_, Sherlock. I'll keep you safe. I know this is outside of your comfort zone but I _will_ protect you, you can count on it."

Sherlock laughed shakily and pulled his hand out carefully from under John. The thing he was most worried about was his close proximity to John and being unable to hide his feelings while under the influence of the compound, and here was John saying he'd not let Sherlock out of his sight. _At least I can blame any untoward behaviour on the chemicals_ he thought, although that was little comfort. He found it galling that he might attempt to seduce John whilst drugged and have no memory of it later, and also no memory of John's reaction. _Not that it would be good, _he thought glumly, _John won't want that kind of attention from me. He'll be 'kind' about it, but kindness isn't exactly what I hope for, and neither is any of this happening completely outside of my control. I _despise_ this. _

Despite Sherlock's reticence he knew he would have to give in as it was clear that John was not going to let it rest. Sherlock would be taking the potion whether he liked it or not. However that didn't mean he had to give in gracefully. He fixed John with a glare.

"You will give me three drops exactly - do _not_ increase the dose."

John agreed easily, pleased that Sherlock had finally backed down, and took the pipette from the table. He dipped it into the formula and then squeezed half of the contents back out into the test-tube, figuring it would be far harder for him to overdose Sherlock if he didn't have much of the compound to start with.

"Tongue please Sherlock," he said seriously, without cracking a smile, even though Sherlock could see the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

Sherlock begrudgingly opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. John carefully dripped the formula onto it, counting out loud as he did, "One…two…three… all done!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's excessive care but said nothing. He was instantly distracted by the taste and commented."I see what you mean John, there is a distinct flavour of cloves, and a soapiness not dissimilar to washing powder. And…" he frowned as he concentrated, "Perhaps a touch of lemon? Bergamot maybe? Definitely a hint of citrus, although the soap almost completely overshadows it…_fascinating!_"

In moments Sherlock was typing away furiously at his laptop trying to compile all his thoughts on the flavour of the formula, his concern at taking it in the first place forgotten in the pursuit of knowledge.

oOo

John kept his word and dutifully measured Sherlock's physical indicators faithfully every hour until it was clear that the formula had begun to take effect. He found it interesting to watch Sherlock's personality shift slightly as the symptoms increased - his speech was softer, the vowels more pronounced. It was almost a drawl at times, John thought. In addition Sherlock seemed to have discovered the tactile part of the effect and was currently laying on the sofa stroking his scarf.

_I really do prefer _my_ Sherlock in all his abrasive brilliance, _thought John, _but this is nice for a change. It is like all the sharp edges and the protective defensiveness have been worn away. He seems younger, more innocent. _That thought made John a little sad as he wondered how often Sherlock had been forced to defend himself over the years to have built up such a strong barrier.

Still, it was pleasant for John to be on the other side of the experiment for once and he intended to enjoy it. He had negotiated a trip out with Sherlock for that afternoon so they could test the effect the potion had on Sherlock's interest in strangers, and John fully intended to take him up on it.

"Come on Sherlock," John wandered over to the sofa and held out a hand to assist Sherlock up, "Let's head out for a walk… it's a lovely sunny day."

Sherlock pouted for a brief moment before the suggestibility inherent in the formula meant he got up without further protest, grabbing John's hand while he swung his legs around until sitting. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"I thought a little walk down to Oxford Circus and Leicester Square? I know it will be full of tourists but it would be a good place to test your interest in other people and whether you actually do fall in lust with anyone. We can find a coffee shop and do some people watching and you can tell me how you feel."

Sherlock merely hummed in agreement and got his coat, and before long the two were walking at a brisk pace in the chilled but sunny wintery afternoon air. It was familiar and nice, and Sherlock found himself relaxing despite his worries. John was his friend and had promised to watch over him. Besides, it would all be over in a few hours - all he had to do was keep a handle on the more extreme of his emotions until then. Sherlock thought arrogantly that now he had experienced the formula first-hand his superior mind would be able to keep control despite the chemicals rushing through his body. _I'm sure it won't affect me anywhere near as strongly as it did John, _he thought smugly. _I observed John through each of his iterations, so I can easily act as though I've been affected to appease him, without any of the unpleasant aspects of actually losing control. It will be fine._

oOo

Some time later they arrived in the heart of the West End and found a coffee shop with a table in the window. Soon they were happily ensconced in comfortable seats people watching and sipping coffee.

"What about her?" John asked, pointing to a very attractive women in a suit and killer heels walking past.

Sherlock shook his head, "No, she's too…" He searched for a word, vaguely aware that usually his reasoning would be instantaneous. By time he answered she had walked out of sight. "She was too… too spiky. I didn't like her shoes," he explained.

John laughed, amused at Sherlock's inability to express himself with words as he usually did. Searching for another target he spotted a man on the other side of the road, heading towards their coffee shop. "Him?"

Sherlock looked at the man John had pointed out. He was certainly attractive in an abstract way, but to Sherlock himself? He wasn't so sure. He frowned and looked at John, "No…"

John saw that Sherlock wasn't really enjoying this, and wisely decided to give it a rest. He vaguely remembered from his own experiences under the chemicals that he hadn't needed to be forced to find someone he wanted - it had happened naturally. He was sure the same would happen with Sherlock in time.

Right now John had another plan to use Sherlock's altered state for his own revenge. "Sherlock, do you remember asking me a tonne of questions in the pub the other night?" he asked.

"Yes John," came Sherlock's obedient response, which made John smile despite himself. He never thought he'd ever describe Sherlock Holmes as _obedient_.

"Well… I seem to remember you asking me some pretty personal stuff when I wasn't really in a state to refuse you, so I reckon it is payback time." John was looking forward to this. He wouldn't push it too far as he cared for Sherlock and didn't want this whole day to be deleted from his mind palace thanks to embarrassment, but he was intent on getting some answers. He started with a simple one - the same as Sherlock had asked him.

"You asked about mine, so tell me about your first kiss?"

To John's surprise and pleasure Sherlock willingly went into a sweet and very amusing story about a girl he met once on holiday who had kissed him unexpectedly. He had been oblivious to her affections and thought they were both interested in the experiment he was running, but it turned out she was more interested in him than the science, much to their mutual disappointment. The story left them both smiling and John sought to find a light-hearted question to maintain the easy mood;

"If you could have a super-power what would it be?"

"I assume my awesome deductive skills don't count?" replied Sherlock slyly, looking at John over the top of his coffee cup. John laughed and mock-punched his arm.

"Not a chance. Besides you tell me often enough it is a science and should not be treated like a magic trick. Come on," John chided, "Surely there's a skill you'd like? To be able to fly? Super-strength? Invisibility?"

Sherlock gave the question the attention it deserved before announcing proudly, "x-ray vision. It would reduce the amount of time I have to spend picking locks and finding hidden rooms on cases. I thought invisibility initially but with my disguises I can effectively achieve that in most important situations anyway. To be able to fly would be exhilarating, but I fear that it would be far too noticeable -"

"Would save a fortune in cab fares though," John interjected with a grin.

"Indeed. But very hard to be inconspicuous when you appear from the air, or - heaven forbid - have great big wings to manage. How would I get clothing to fit?"

John laughed at that one and indulged in a moment's fantasy of Sherlock in his usual coat and scarf with big, sweeping, blue-black feathered angel wings behind him, long enough that the wingtips brushed on the floor. _The poncey git would love them, _John thought with a smile, _imagine how theatrical he could be swooping around with actual wings to flap about rather than his coat. He'd never stop. _

"Do you have or would you ever get a tattoo, and where?" John added a suggestive leer to the question, deciding to move on from the super-power query before he got too caught up in the idea.

Sherlock replied with a negative, and they got into an interesting discussion on the origins of tattoos. Sherlock, unsurprisingly, knew an awful lot about them thanks to his police work.

John asked a couple of other questions about little things, but very carefully kept it light. He knew Sherlock would be mortified if John pressed too hard, or even as personal as Sherlock had encouraged him to be (_favourite position in bed? _John snorted - he might have expected John to answer that but there was _no way_ Sherlock would let him get away with a question like that the next day). Still, he enjoyed the time and found it pleasurable to know that Sherlock wasn't being careful with his answers and that they were honest.

oOo

They took a tube back to Baker Street; John unwilling to pay for a taxi, and Sherlock unwilling to walk. Unfortunately by that time it was rush hour and the underground was crowded.

"I told you we should have taken a taxi," Sherlock groused as they forced their way into a carriage already full to the brim.

"Oh, shush. It is all of three stops. We'll be home in ten minutes."

Sherlock grasped the overhead rail and tried to keep his balance among the commuters. He disliked being in such close contact with others, even under the influence of the formula. In a small part of his brain he noted how it was different to when John took it - how he had yet to fall even slightly in love with anyway, despite the chemicals.

Just then the train jolted to a stop and John fell against him.

"Sorry," he said, putting his hand on Sherlock's coat lapel to steady himself as they started moving again. Sherlock instinctively took his spare arm and held onto John's waist to keep him upright. He glanced down at his friend, leaning up against him and, from the tension in his jaw, resolutely trying to give Sherlock as much space as possible in the circumstances.

In that moment Sherlock fell completely and hopelessly in artificial love with John Watson.

Sherlock leant down and spoke in a low voice close to his ear, "John." John hummed but didn't answer, so Sherlock got closer, until his lips were touching John's ear.

"John. Look at me." He said, insistently, his voice intense.

John instinctively moved away from Sherlock's breath ghosting on his face, but there was nowhere to go - he was trapped. He sighed, wishing he'd thought this through before suggesting a tube journey at rush hour. "What do you want Sherlock?" John asked, glancing up at his friend.

One look at the blown pupils and flushed cheeks and John knew _exactly_ what it was Sherlock wanted. He cursed in his mind at his own stupidity - the last version of Sherlock's formula had proved there was a bias towards individuals that were already known to the subject. Why on earth had John thought that spending the day out watching strangers would get a reaction from Sherlock? No wonder the Detective thought he was interested in John - his was the only familiar face Sherlock had seen all day, and the forced intimacy of the train was only enhancing it.

John suddenly became aware that while he had been lost in thought Sherlock had got closer, and was trying to nuzzle John's neck.

"Sherlock, you have to stop that," John told him sternly, "You don't really want me - it is the formula talking."

"Yes I do," Sherlock murmured into John's ear, his teeth grazing John's earlobe. "I want to taste you."

John shivered involuntarily at the feeling. _Oh hell, I need to get out of here, _he thought desperately, _before I take advantage and do something I'll regret tomorrow. Well, I won't regret it… but Sherlock would undoubtably be horrified, and that's not fair._

Just then they arrived at a station and to John's relief half of the carriage left, leaving them with enough space for John to take a half-step back from Sherlock.

"Why are you being so mean John?" asked Sherlock petulantly, "Why won't you let me kiss you?"

"Because you don't really want me," John sighed, "And because you'll regret it tomorrow."

"That's not fair!" Sherlock's argument had regressed to that of a sulky teenager, "I let you kiss me when you were under iteration #05 in the club, why won't you do this for me?"

John's mouth gaped open in shock and for a moment the world around him dimmed. _I kissed him? I kissed Sherlock Holmes? Why don't I remember? Surely I'd remember something as monumental as that? _Pulling himself together quickly he insisted to Sherlock that regardless of that Sherlock was not allowed to kiss John here on the underground.

To John's relief they finally arrived at the Baker Street tube station and John was able to manhandle Sherlock off the train and back into the early evening air outside. He shoved his hands in his pockets to stop Sherlock holding on to him as they walked back to the flat, Sherlock chatting away with deductions about someone on the train who had caught his eye, while John thought back to the night in the club and tried frantically to tie up Sherlock's revelation with his own memories.

It wasn't until they got to the front door of 221b and John reached out a hand involuntarily to steady Sherlock who had stumbled on a loose paving slab that suddenly the position with his hand on Sherlock's waist seemed all too familiar. Just like that the memories came flooding back - the club, the kisses, the _dancing_, the promises…

_So it wasn't just some random bloke I was dancing with and pinning against the wall in the club, but Sherlock. Oh god! And I told him that the dancing was hot and sultry - lewd - before when I didn't know who it was… Why on earth didn't he tell me it was him? Was it to save me from the mortification of his rejection? _

_Except…_

_He didn't reject me… I remember now. We sat in the club and he let me kiss him (and kissed me back if I recall correctly) and when I wanted more he told me he'd invite me to his bedroom if I could recount it all the next day. Well I've got the memories back now, but he's in no state to consent to anything today. Besides, I promised him no one would touch him, and that includes me. _

_So what on earth do I do now I know?_

* * *

Ha! I rather enjoy getting John some payback for all the crap he's put up with from Sherlock, although John is of course far too nice to take real advantage of it.

Second part should be up by the end of the week. Then I'm afraid updates will slow down for the last chapter(s) as I'm away working for a couple of weeks. I'm going to try and update regardless, but apologies if you all have to wait a touch longer for the conclusion.

Thanks as always to all who review / follow. Special thanks to martiangirlsworld who pointed out how inappropriate Sherlock's questions were when John was drugged, prompting me to make sure John got his revenge!


	12. Love potion number - 8 (pt 2)

John made them both tea automatically when they returned to the flat, despite the copious quantities of coffee they had both drunk that afternoon. He had some thinking to do and tea would help (tea _always_ helped). Settling himself in his armchair he began.

His first thoughts were on replaying the night in the club - only now instead of a faceless male it was Sherlock he was dancing with, and Sherlock who was accepting his kisses and naughty words. At first John was embarrassed at having thrown himself at his flatmate so comprehensively without his own knowledge. Then came the anger - how dare Sherlock have allowed him such liberties without his consent? Surely Sherlock knew that whilst drugged he couldn't be liable for his own actions. He had trusted Sherlock to look after him - this felt like a violation.

Finally John reached acceptance and forgiveness - although Sherlock had indeed allowed John's kisses, John could remember him also trying to dissuade John, and getting them both out of the club before it got any more heated. He also remembered Sherlock's offer of more, should John remember… and John realised it had been heartfelt, and that it must have cost Sherlock to have ended up in that position when John wasn't himself, knowing it wouldn't last.

_If it were me, today, with Sherlock how he is, could I honestly say I would have acted any better or more compassionately than Sherlock did when I was affected?_ John asked himself, and was forced to concede that his friend really had done the best he could with a difficult situation.

John had a choice now: He could pretend the conversation with Sherlock on the tube had never happened and conveniently 'forget' again all his memories from the club, and things could carry on as normal. Or he could do something about it and progress things from flatmates and friends to… _more_.

John thought that vague concept of _more_ sounded very appealing at that moment.

What John wanted to do was to stand up, walk over to Sherlock and snog him senseless. However John knew that would be a bad idea for two very good reasons. One - Sherlock was still drugged so it would be unfair of John to do it whilst Sherlock was altered in that way. Two - it was _Sherlock Holmes_! John was very sure the man had had few, if any, romantic partners (he thought Sherlock had undoubtedly shared his bed - he was far too curious about life to have avoided sex - but romance was a different story) and as such he deserved the full shebang. John was going to seduce him, slowly and carefully, and show him exactly how much he meant to John.

The first thing John needed was a favour. He spared a moment to be grateful that Sherlock was unusually unobservant whilst affected by the love potion, so John could probably get away with something he would never dream of doing at any other time. That is if he wanted to continue breathing… He casually wandered upstairs to his room, shut the door, and called Mycroft.

It rang twice before Mycroft answered with a bored-sounding "Doctor Watson?"

"Mycroft, I was wondering if you could do me a favour?" John got straight to the point, unsure of how much time he would have before Sherlock noticed he'd left and started investigating.

"Intriguing," replied Mycroft, "And in return…?"

"It's for your brother. I can owe you one if you want, but I reckon you'll get a kick out of knowing what's going on before he does. I'm sure you'll deduce everything about my request the second I make it," admitted John wryly. Trying to keep a secret around the Holmes brothers was nigh on impossible.

"That _does_ have a certain appeal," Mycroft admitted, "Go on then John, what can I do for you?"

"Well, what I need is…" John explained his idea.

"Ah." John knew Mycroft had caught each and every layer of subtext in his request. _So much for keeping my feelings secret, _he thought. "I know just the thing." Mycroft continued, "Don't fret John, I'll text you the details and ensure the tickets are waiting at the door for you."

"Thanks - I appreciate it." John hung up, grateful for Mycroft's assistance. He thought it was probably the only opportunity he would ever have to actually surprise Sherlock with a plan he hadn't deduced himself ahead of time, and he was looking forward to it.

With a bounce in his step he raced down the stairs to the living room where Sherlock was laid across the couch like a swooning Victorian heroine with one arm across his eyes and the other hanging off the edge.

"Sherlock," John asked the melodramatic detective softly, "Are you awake?"

A toe twitched involuntarily at the question, making John smile.

"Good. Go get showered and changed. We're leaving in an hour - I'm taking you out!"

oOo

Despite all of Sherlock's best efforts to wheedle the venue from John, the doctor stayed steadfastly silent, enjoying having Sherlock on the back foot for once. All John would tell him was that they would be popping in to Angelo's for dinner first, and John himself would be wearing a suit so Sherlock should dress appropriately.

Sherlock was still feeling the effects of the formula and couldn't quite manage to work out what it was John had done. He knew there was a secret that he would want to know about - John was looking disgustingly pleased with himself - but he had no idea what. Sherlock was aware that usually his deductive powers would have solved it in seconds but he couldn't quite get his head around what it might be at that moment. Frustrating, but if it meant John was going to spend the evening with him, then Sherlock decided he would put aside his desire to sulk about it for the time being.

After a quick shower Sherlock willingly got dressed for the mysterious evening. He chose a dark navy suit and a crisp white shirt, knowing full well the combination always got him admiring looks from Molly and others. After all, the potion was shouting loud and clear in his head that he wanted John, so why not make sure to look his best?

Sherlock sat in his chair in the living room waiting for John to come back downstairs. When he heard the familiar footsteps on the stairs Sherlock was suddenly consumed with an unexpected flare of nerves deep in the pit of his stomach - was he dressed correctly? Where were they going? Would John look after him as he had promised at the start of the experiment? This wasn't part of the original plan after all.

Fortunately, before Sherlock's mind could get the better of him, John appeared, also wearing a suit and a nice shirt. Sherlock noticed the care John had taken with his appearance - the signs of him having shaved again, the splash of cologne, the parade-gloss finish to his shoes. _It's funny, _thought Sherlock, _the level of preparation exceeds that of his usual dates with those insipid women._

Luckily for John, Sherlock was distracted from that idea before he could put too much thought into it, by John cordially helping him into his coat and gesturing him out of the front door.

oOo

The journey to Angelo's was spent in easy conversation about the world around them, discussing the changes made to the houses and shops on the roads they walked down since their first arrival at Baker Street and the subsequent chase across rooftops and streets the night they met after the cabbie from the Study in Pink (as John called it in his blog). Just as on the first night they were greeted by Angelo himself like old friends at the restaurant and led to the table in the window.

John couldn't decide if he was amused or disappointed when the usual question about a candle for the table was forgotten in the chatter between Angelo and Sherlock - Sherlock's tongue having been thoroughly loosened by a combination of the Love Potion and his comfort in being in a familiar place among friends. Eventually Angelo left, promising to bring them both meals that he was sure they would like, forbidding them from even looking at the menu.

When they were alone John looked across the table at Sherlock, his eyes crinkling with mirth at the detective's loquacious mood.

"Are you having fun Sherlock?" he asked.

Sherlock looked up and caught John's eye and found himself unexpectedly silenced by the sight of the handsome man opposite as the lust he had felt earlier welled up inside him again. In response to John's question he could merely smile and nod; his desire to chatter leaving him. Still, it was a comfortable silence and it wasn't long before a waiter was back with their meals - a simple green salad and delicately herbed chicken breast for Sherlock and a bowl of steaming pasta with a spicy sauce for John, plus a basket of garlicky bread for them to share. They both looked at the meals with approval. Angelo really did excel at providing just the right meal for them both despite their different tastes.

Sherlock picked at his salad while John ate his pasta with a good appetite, subtly ignoring Sherlock's fork as it occasionally dipped into his bowl. _Git_, thought John fondly, _if I'd suggested he had pasta he would have sneered at me and said such heavy meals slowed his transport down unacceptably. However if it is _my_ pasta off of _my_ plate suddenly it doesn't count._ John didn't really mind – he was just pleased Sherlock was eating well and enjoying himself.

They took their time over the meal, John having assured Sherlock that they had a good hour before they needed to leave for their next destination. As they lingered over coffee and John's dessert Sherlock found his voice again and told John stories from his childhood, making them both giggle at some of the more excessive things Sherlock had got up to in the name of 'science'. It turned out that not only had Sherlock's parents been extremely forgiving of his desire to deconstruct everything he could get his hands on to find out how it worked, but had actively encouraged him by providing him with his own space to experiment and plenty of raw materials.

The story of how a young Sherlock had inadvertently infested Mycroft's bedroom with crickets just before he came back for the summer holidays from boarding school had John crying with laughter as Sherlock described ruefully how he had accidentally left a container of them open in Mycroft's room, only for them to escape.

"Mycroft worked out straight away what had happened, and that I hadn't told anyone for fear of getting into trouble. He must have known that wasn't the case despite my fears but for some reason he didn't tell our parents. I think he might have forgiven me for the annoyance," Sherlock explained with a smile, "If it wasn't for the fact they would insist in chirping all night to each other which drove him to distraction. He couldn't change rooms without alerting the rest of the family to the problem, so he and I spent every evening for nearly three weeks with nets and specimen jars, constructing traps and hunting for crickets around his bedroom." Sherlock's eyes lit up in amusement as he recalled, "The very last one took us six nights to find and we nearly tore his room apart in the process, only to come in after dinner to find it sitting on his desk in full view as though it had tired of the game and wanted to go back to its home in the garden."

"I can just picture you both in safari gear with pith helmets, hunting the fearsome cricket around the bedroom, armed with your trusty net," said John with a grin.

Sherlock laughed in recognition, "Well we weren't quite that serious about it, but it was a bit of a mission. Mycroft was getting increasingly grumpy as the sleepless nights continued, and I feared for the safety of my lab if it continued much longer."

"Did he get his revenge?" asked John, curious, well aware of the trials of having an older sibling.

"Oh." Sherlock frowned as he thought back, "No. He just warned me not to use his room for experiments again or there would be Dire Consequences," he effortlessly pronounced the capitals, "But Mycroft was always saying things like that and all he ever did was sigh at me then help me fix whatever mess I'd got myself into."

John smiled softly, thinking of the relationship between the brothers now, "Some things never change," he said in a quiet voice. He looked at his watch and then caught the eye of the waiter to ask for the bill. While Sherlock said goodbye to Angelo, John procured a cab and gave the address, thus preventing Sherlock from finding out their destination for a little while longer. It didn't take long before the cab stopped on the South Bank, outside the Royal Festival Hall.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed in pure pleasure, finally discovering what the rest of the evening held. "The London Philharmonic Orchestra is running a programme of violin concertos. The critics have been outstandingly complimentary of the performances to date."

John grinned, "I know. That's why we have tickets. Thought it might pass the time, if you fancy it," he added in an offhand manner, teasing his friend who was almost vibrating with excitement.

Sherlock treated him to a swift scowl at being teased, but couldn't keep it up for long before the excitement was back.

"Shall we?" asked John as he opened the taxi door. Sherlock grinned and exited gracefully before accompanying John into the building.

oOo

The taxi back to 221b later that night was filled with a contented silence. John watched in fascination as Sherlock's body swayed to music only he could hear now, as he committed memories of the evening to his mind palace.

"The first violin was truly talented," remarked Sherlock in a low voice.

"I don't know a huge amount about music," John admitted, "But even I could tell that was something special. I enjoyed it a great deal." Sherlock smiled absently and lapsed back into silence as he continued to replay the concerto in his mind.

It wasn't until they arrived back at their home and made their way into the living room that he spoke again. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, still cataloguing events when he caught John's sleeve as he walked past, making John stop in front of him.

"Thank you," said Sherlock sincerely as he looked up at his friend, "I had a wonderful evening. I thought this whole day and my enforced participation in this experiment was going to be a disaster. But you have made it a pleasure. I… that is to say… thank you."

John practically melted at the words and the look on Sherlock's face, knowing that he had been the one to put it there. Rarely had he seen his friend so happy and so open with his emotions. It was a moment to be treasured and John couldn't help but pull Sherlock into an awkward hug, and reach down and kiss Sherlock gently on the forehead.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," John murmured against his hair, breathing in the scent of Sherlock's shampoo, "I wanted tonight to be special for you."

oOo

Sherlock stayed up for some time after John left for his bed, going over the events of the evening. There was something niggling in his brain, a significant detail he had overlooked. No matter how he approached it he couldn't quite find the key. Sherlock knew his mind usually made connections effortlessly and was aware it was the effects of the formula slowing him down. In frustration he eventually went to bed hoping that he would sleep it off and be back to himself in the morning.

He woke the next day with a clear head – all traces of the compound gone. Sherlock's first waking thought was that which had plagued him the evening before… Something hadn't added up in John's behaviour. It had been outside of the scope of their usual friendship, although Sherlock couldn't see yet what had been different. He could recall John treating him with the utmost care, respecting all the boundaries Sherlock had laid down before the experiment began, and their day hadn't been markedly different from normal. He ran through the previous twenty four hours again, fast forwarding through the two of them walking around London and the afternoon drinking coffee until he got to Angelo's. Without being aware of it Sherlock's eyes softened and his lips twitched into a half smile at the memory of dinner and sublime music. Suddenly the cause of his anxiety made itself clear. First Sherlock was shocked, then he let out an involuntary burst of laughter.

_John Watson took me for dinner and to a concert which he knew I'd love, with the best seats possible. He dressed up, paid for the meal and opened doors for me. He was a perfect gentleman and at the end of the evening he kissed me on the forehead and bid me goodnight. _

_Last night John Watson took me on a date. And I didn't have a clue!_

oOo

_Summary of S. Holmes experiment notes - use of chemical stimulation to promote an indiscriminate strong attraction and personal attachment ('Love') in test subject for a controlled period of time._

**Week 6:** compound 2013107 #08

**Subject: ** Sherlock Holmes

**Notes: ** Following the somewhat unexpected results of compound #07 I was forced into being the subject for compound #08. Although it was scientifically interesting to be on the other side of the experiment for a change I found it challenging to be as dispassionate as a scientist must be in order to record results accurately. That said, the effects were most fascinating, and it is very clear to me that Mrs Warwick could indeed have been drugged as she theorised at the start of this experiment, causing the symptoms she described and both John and I experienced in the last few iterations.

I am unsure of the need to experiment further as I have proved my hypothesis. However there appear to be lose ends of a less scientific nature which need to be resolved before I can declare this case to be truly over. The next steps will be crucial, and care must be taken to ensure my desired outcome.

**Outcomes:** Compound has been proven to work not just on the initial subject but on myself as well.

**Conclusion:** Mrs Warwick was justified in recruiting me to investigate this. She was not at fault. I hope the proof I am able to provide enables her to rescue her marriage. For myself, one further experiment is needed, although whether it will require another variant of this 'Love Potion' (as John insists on calling it) is debatable.

* * *

**A/N – **So, one more experiment to go if Sherlock is correct in his thinking :). I'm away for the next two weeks so updates will be slower than usual, but I promise I won't keep you waiting too long.

Thanks to everyone who follows, reviews and comments – I love feedback and I really enjoy reading what you all think x


	13. A change of plans

Sherlock was a genius. He knew this because it was a fact, and also because people told him so, frequently. One of those people was John. In fact John was extraordinarily vocal about his admiration for Sherlock's brain and used a wide variety of complimentary adjectives to describe the thoughts that came out of it – often in public, in front of witnesses.

So Sherlock couldn't understand how John thought that Sherlock wouldn't notice the seduction routine John was currently working on.

It had started with the violin concert and dinner the previous week when Sherlock had taken the last version of his formula. After that came the little things that could be reasoned away as kindness, and the things friends did for each other. Things such as John bringing Sherlock home a copy of a medical journal from the Surgery because there was an article in it he thought Sherlock would enjoy (he did). Things such as doing the shopping without complaint or pointed comments that _surely it was Sherlock's turn this week to buy the milk?_ Not only was John doing the shopping, but bringing back little treats for Sherlock each time such as his favourite biscuits or a punnet of berries (which he pounced on as soon as John unpacked them, and ate with relish).

However, that wasn't all that Sherlock noticed. There were the subtle changes to John's appearance – his newfound habit of wearing his most flattering jeans and soft shirts around the flat, the hair cut, the frequent splash of cologne (Sherlock couldn't help but flick his eyes down John's profile admiringly whenever he came into view when he wore _those_ jeans).

Finally there was the increase in physical contact. The two men had very little requirements for personal space between them at the best of times. Too many stakeouts in ridiculously close quarters had put paid to that, plus Sherlock's habit of asking John to hunt in Sherlock's pockets for his phone. Even so, the casual touches and physical closeness had increased to a point that even Sherlock wondered if it might be a touch obvious to other people (not that he cared, he rather liked it when John helped him into his coat and allowed his hands to linger on Sherlock's shoulders for a moment longer than necessary).

There were also the physical symptoms that John displayed all the time now, although Sherlock was less sure that the Doctor was even aware of these, and certain he wasn't consciously exhibiting them. Not that Sherlock could comment really – he was fully aware his own pupils were blown when he caught himself looking at John in the living room when they had a quiet evening in together (not to mention the time Sherlock came out of the shower without realising John was outside and nearly walked into him clad only in a towel. From the flush both men displayed Sherlock was sure John's heart had been pounding nearly as fast as his own).

So what was to be done? Sherlock oscillated between amusement at John's softly-softly approach, and annoyance that John didn't just come out and say what he wanted so Sherlock could accept and end all this dancing around. The Detective took a couple of days to think about it, running various scenarios through his head before he came to a decision: If John thought seduction was the way forward then Sherlock could do that.

Only now it was going to be Sherlock seducing John.

_This has gone on for too long for me to be subtle_, thought Sherlock, _I'm going to have to do something radical. There is still a variation of the formula for the Warwick's to be tested as far as John is aware, thanks to my comments after my own brush with the experiment. That gives me the opportunity for a quick resolution…_ Sherlock frowned, aware of the issues with that approach, _no drugging him though. If I get him to admit he wants me he has to be completely aware of his own mind – no forgetting about it like he did that night in the club._

It took a number of iterations but finally Sherlock had a plan that he thought might just be cunning enough to trick John into admitting the truth about his feelings without jeopardising Sherlock's chances of progressing things past that point.

Now to put it into action.

oOo

"John."

…

"JOHN!"

John came down the stairs slowly, yawning, trailing his dressing gown behind him. Muffled slightly by the bone-cracking stretch he allowed himself as he reached the kitchen door, he answered Sherlock sleepily, "'m here Sh'lock. What do you want?"

"I think this is the final version of the formula. I need to test it today – this iteration of the compound is unusually unstable and it won't last for long before it loses its effectiveness."

John frowned, too sleepy to really work out what was going on. He walked over to the kettle, filled it and switched it on then sat at the table. If he was going to have to have a proper conversation with Sherlock at such an early hour of the morning he would need tea.

Ordering his thoughts, he tried again. "Ok, so you have another version of your Love Potion to test. What's different with this one? What am I letting myself in for?"

"Really John there is absolutely no need to be alarmed," Sherlock replied dismissively, "This is perfectly safe and no different in effect to the one I took the last time. Only I've worked on making it seem completely natural. You should find the taste barely noticeable this time and the effects very subtle. In fact, you might feel as though you haven't taken anything at all compared to the previous versions."

"Hmmmm…" John pondered, wondering what the catch was, "I suppose that would be ok."

Sherlock looked up at John, a crafty look flashing through his eyes, "I'm so confident of the outcomes of this version John that I'll offer you a second option if you want."

"Oh?"

"As it should be the last one, and as the effects are already known to us both and therefore will not require significant analysis... This time we both take it."

John's head said _bad idea – this is a really bad idea_ but he had never been one to avoid danger. So instead of politely declining, or suggesting that surely for the sake of science one of them had to be unaffected, he nodded and told Sherlock that he thought that was an excellent idea.

A cup of tea and three drops of the tasteless (as promised) formula each, and John was back upstairs getting dressed for the day wondering what had happened. He couldn't help but recall the blaze of triumph that Sherlock hadn't quite been able to conceal when John had agreed to them both taking the formula…

_What on earth have I done? _thought John, _I'm drugged and so is Sherlock. Now neither of us has the wherewithal to say no. _He sighed, thinking back on his attempts over the last week or so to encourage closeness between the two of them, unable to make himself take the next step and tell Sherlock how he really felt. _I get the distinct impression that one way or another, what happens today is going to change things around here for good. _

His last thought as he shut his bedroom door to head back into the shared lounge was accompanied by a swarm of butterflies in his stomach:

_I just hope they change the way I want them to._

* * *

**A/N** – apologies folks for keeping you waiting – real life had been ridiculously busy. Still, this story is now officially well-travelled as I write this from Vancouver instead of from home in the UK!

There are probably two chapters to go now as they test Love Potion number 9, so not much longer before we reach the ending (sigh).

As always thanks to everyone who follows and reviews – I love feedback and feel honoured so many of you are reading this x


End file.
